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THE 


BOOK  OF  ORATORY: 


A  NEW  COLLECTION  OF  EXTRACTS  IN 


PROSE,  POETRY,  AND  DIALOGUE, 


CONTAINING  SELECTIONS  FROM 

PISTIKGUISIIED  AMEEICAN  AND  ENGLISH  OSATOES, 
DIVINES,  AND  POETS  ; 

OF  ■VTHICU 

MANY  ARE  SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ELOQUENCE   OF  STATESMEN  OF  TUB 
PRESENT   DAY. 


'OR  THE  USE  OF  COLLEGES,  ACADEMIES,  AND  SCHOOLS. 


BY  EDWARD  C.  MARSHALL,  M.  A. 

ia.TE  INSTRrCTOR  IN  A  MILITARY  SCHOOL  AT  "WEST  POINT,  IN  GENEVA  COLLEOB, 
AND  IN  THE  NEW  YORK  UNIVERSITY. 


Nemo  est  orator,  qui  so  Deniosthenia  similem  esse  nolit. 

CiCKRO,  de  Optimo  genere  Oratorunu 


NEW   YOPtK. 
D.    APPLETON    &    COMPANY, 

90,  92  &  9-4  GRAND  STREET. 
18T0. 


EDUCATION  DEPT. 

according  to  Act  of  Ctongresa,  in  the  year  1851, 

3iY  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY 

In  the  Oerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Stales  for  the  SouUiem 
District  of  New  York. 


TO 

HO  11  AGE    WEBSTEE,    LL.  D 

THE  ABLE  HEAD  OF 

THE  NEW  YORK  FREE  ACADEMY, 

WHO  HAS  BEEN,  FOR  MOKE  THAN 

A    QUARTER    OF    A    CENTURY 

IDENTIFIED 

WITH  SOUND  COLLEGIATE  EDUCATION 
IN  THE  STATE  OF  NEW  YORK, 

®l)io  bolitmc 

iS  BESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED. 


MS084S8 


PREFACE. 


An  experience  of  eiglit  years  as  an  instructor  of  elocution,  as 
well  as  of  otlier  branches,  in  a  military  school  at  West  Point,  in 
Geneva  College,  and  in  the  discharge  of  duties,  among  which  is 
the  teaching  of  oratory  in  the  department  of  History  and  Belles- 
Lettres  of  the  New  York  Free  Academy,  having  induced  the 
belief  that  the  selections  in  the  leading  books  upon  this  subject 
are  mostly  too  hackneyed  to  be  used  with  great  benefit  in  our 
colleges  and  schools,  the  determination  was  formed  to  prepare  a 
collection  of  newer  material,  and  the  present  volume  is  ofiFered 
as  the  result  of  that  undertaking.  A  great  part  of  the  selections 
which  are  here  submitted  to  the  public,  appear  for  the  first  time 
in  a  book  of  this  character ;  and  an  important  feature  of  the 
work  is  to  present  specimens  of  the  eloquence  of  the  more  recent 
living  as  well  as  deceased  statesmen  from  all  parts  of  the  Union, 
which  has  not  been  attempted,  it  is  believed,  in  any  other  siuii- 
lar  collection. 

The  compiler's  experience  in  the  use  of  otlier  works  has  been, 
also,  that  most  of  the  articles  arc  too  long  for  the  wants  of  stu- 
dents, and  he  has  endeavored  to  digest  the  material  here  pre- 
sented with  great  care,  omitting  all  parts  of  the  extracts  which 
are  unnecessary  to  the  development  of  their  leading  ideas,  or 
which  would  render  them  too  prolix.  Many  of  the  best  speci- 
mens of  our  literature  will  therefore  be  found  so  abridged,  with 
special  reference  to  their  convenient  length  as  exercises  in  ora- 
tory in  colleges  and  schools,  and,  it  is  believed,  without  essen- 
tially marring  their  beauty.     He  trusts  that  his  labor  in  select- 


6  PllEFACE. 

ing,  abbreviating,  and  arranging  the  extracts,  will  be  appre- 
ciated by  instructors  and  students,  as  it  is  his  own  opinion  that 
brevity,  adaptation,  and  variety  are  the  main  requisites  in  a 
work  like  the  present. 

As  to  the  amount  of  instruction  in  oratory  which  is  generally 
given  in  our  seminaries  of  learning,  there  can  be  but  little  doubt 
that  the  subject  does  not  receive  the  attention  which  it  merits. 
Very  much  can  be  done,  by  careful  teaching  in  youth,  in  culti- 
vating the  habit  of  expressing  one's  ideas  well  by  the  lips ;  and 
oratory  is  a  more  important  branch  of  study,  and  more  efl&cient 
means  of  educational  training,  than  it  has  of  late  been  consid- 
ered. The  greatest  masters  of  eloquence  whom  the  world  has 
ever  seen,  flourished  among  the  ancients,  with  whom  education 
consisted  so  much  in  the  study  and  practice  of  oratory,  that  it 
formed,  in  their  schools,  almost  the  main  object  of  instruction. 
Other  studies,  indeed,  as  philosophy,  mathematics,  science,  and 
history  were  pursued,  but  they  were  chiefly  subordinate  to  ora- 
tory. The  most  accurate  division  of  labor  prevailed  in  oratori- 
cal instruction,  one  rhetorician  giving  his  whole  attention  to 
vocal  force,  another  to  modulation,  and  another  to  inflections. 
No  man  could  hope  for  distinction  among  them,  in  the  camp  or 
forum,  without  oratorical  skill.  Their  generals  ruled  as  w^ell  by 
the  rhetorical  talent  they  had  acquired  in  youth,  as  by  militaty 
sway.  All  their  great  men  submitted  to  long  and  laborious 
discipline  to  attain  a  mastery  of  this  art.  They  practised  fre- 
quently before  their  equals,  and  before  their  teachers,  who 
criticised,  reproved,  rebuked,  excited  emulation,  and  left  nothing 
undone  which  perseverance  could  accomplish.*  Cicero  passed 
nearly  thirty  years  in  the  study  of  oratory  under  the  chief  mas- 
ters of  his  time.  The  story  of  Demosthenes  is  well  known  ; 
and  Cicero,  Quintilian,  Isocrates,  Aristotle,  and  others  have  left 
treatises  upon  the  best  modes  of  oratorical  instruction,  which 
give  evidence  of  the  attention  bestowed  upon  it. 
*  See  an  article  by  William  Wirt,  p.  157. 


PliEFACE.  7 

Such  was  the  importance  ascribed  by  the  ancients  to  practice 
in  expressing  their  own  thoughts  in  their  mother  tongue  as  a 
means  of  education ;  but,  in  later  times,  other  subjects  have 
been  cultivated  at  the  expense  of  a  proper  attention  to  our  own 
language.  The  recent  discussions,  however,  in  the  leading  re- 
views of  England,  and  the  popular  demand  in  this  country, 
show  that  the  study  of  the  English  language,  in  its  origin,  its 
synonyms,  and,  above  all,  by  practice  in  its  use  in  writing  and 
speaking,  is  destined  henceforth  to  become  an  important  feature 
in  education.  Such  study  will  make  practical,  ready,  and  think- 
ing men  in  a  greater  degree  than  is  possible  under  other  sys- 
tems. Of  this  practice  in  the  use  of  the  English  language,  ora- 
tory forms  a  valuable  part.  Exercises  in  oratory,  under  the 
criticism  of  an  instructor,  tend  even  more  than  the  study  of 
mathematics  and  the  languages  to  discipline  all  the  mental  fac- 
ulties in  harmonious  proportion.  Such  exercises  impart  powei 
of  thought,  cultivate  enunciation  and  pronunciation,  store  the 
memory  with  a  rich  fund  of  words,  develop  a  knowledge  of 
our  own  language,  and  in  every  manner  give  a  readiness  in 
originating  and  expressing  ideas. 

The  system  of  rehearsals  adopted  in  the  Free  Academy  is,  it 
is  believed,  unlike  any  which  prevails  in  our  colleges,  and,  for 
excellence,  is  probably  surpassed  by  no  other.  The  instructor 
gives  each  student,  individually,  careful  disciphne  upon  the  speech 
which  he  is  to  recite,  explaining  its  meaning,  correcting  his  faults 
of  enunciation,  pronunciation,  emphasis,  gesticulation,  or  other 
errors,  and  imparting  a  delivery  which  shall  give  the  most  per- 
fect expression  of  the  ideas  that  are  to  be  conveyed.  During 
the  first  part  of  his  period  of  study  the  pupil  gives  recitations 
of  extracts,  which  exercise  receives  a  searching  criticism  at  the 
rehearsals ;  and  in  the  latter  portion  of  his  course,  he  delivers 
original  orations  and  discussions,  subject  to  the  same  discipline. 
There  can  be  but  little  doubt  that  if  this  system  shall  be  fully 
carried  out,  it  will  furnish  more  finished  speakers  and  writers 


8  PREFACE. 

and  well-disciplined  thinkers  than  can  be  produced  if  undue 
prominence  is  given  to  other  branches  of  study. 

The  compiler  of  this  volume  acknowledges  his  indebtedness 
to  the  Honorable  Messrs.  Cass,  Benton,  Berrien,  Butler,  Hunter, 
Seward,  Dickinson,  Winthrop,  Jefferson  Davis,  Hilliard,  and 
Mayor  Seaton,  of  Washington,  for  valuable  assistance  in  furnish- 
ing and  collecting  speeches  for  his  use,  of  which  he  has  fully 
availed  himself. 

For  an  able  discussion  of  the  principles  of  oratory,  he  refers 
to  the  work  of  the  Rev.  Henry  Mandeville,  D.  D.,  which  may 
be  obtained  froni  the  enterprising  publishers  of  this  collection. 

An  abridgment,  styled  "  The  First  Book  of  Oratory,"  con- 
taining about  one-half  of  the  extracts  here  presented,  has  been 
prepared  for  the  use  of  schools,  and  of  those  persons  who  wish 
a  volume  of  moderate  price. 

New  Yoek  Fuke  Academy,  Atkii^  1861 


M 


/ 


CONTENTS. 


SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

PASS 

1.  The  perfect  orator Anonymous.  17 

2.  Reply  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton Thurlow.  18 

3.  Oratoiy,  an  art Knowles.  18 

4.  The  value  of  oratory Knowles.  19 

5.  "Vindication  from  calumny : Emmet.  20 

6.  The  same.— Part  Second Emmet.  21 

7.  The  same.— Part  Third Emmet.  22 

8.  Defence  of  Smith  O'Brien Whiteside.  23 

9.  Vindication  from  treason Meagher.  24 

10.  The  same.— Part  Second Meagher.  25 

11.  The  Indian,  as  he  was,  and  is Sprague.  20 

12.  Sorrow  for  the  dead Irving.  27 

13.  The  same.— Part  Second Irving.  28 

14.  The  destiny  of  America Story.  29 

15.  The  responsibilities  of  America Story.  30 

16.  The  Indian  tribes Humphrey.  31 

17.  The  memory  of  the  good Humphrey.  32 

18.  The  patriot's  ambition Clay.  33 

19.  The  consequences  of  disunion Clay.  34 

20.  The  Union Clay.  35 

21.  Taxation  for  war Calhoun.  35 

22.  State  rights Calhoun.  36 

2.3.  Eulogy  upon  John  C.  Calhoun Webster.  37 

24.  Free  discussion Webster.  39 

25.  American  institutions Webster.  39 

26.  America - Webster.  40 

27.  The  murderer's  secret Webster.  41 

28.  The  same.— Part  Second Webster.  42 

29.  Supposed  speech  of  John  Adams Webster.  43 

30.  The  same.— Part  Second Webster.  44 

31.  Encroachments  on  the  Constitution Webster.  45 

32.  The  sentinels  of  Uberty Webster.  46 

33.  Bunker  Hill  Monument Webster.  47 

34.  The  character  of  Washington Webster.  48 

35.  The  responsibility  of  Americans Webster.  49 

36.  The  voyage  of  the  Mayflower Everett.  50 

37.  The  laud  of  our  fathers EvereU.  51 

38.  The  same.— Part  Second Everett.  52 

39.  The  influence  of  Lafayette Everett.  53 

40.  Man  made  to  labor Everett.  54 

41.  What  good  ? Everett.  54 

42.  Adams  and  Jefferson Everett.  56 

43.  Civil  war Wirt.  57 

44.  The  poor  Indian Wirt.  58 

45.  Suspension  of  relations  with  Austria Cass.  59 

1* 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAOK 

46.  Suspension  of  relations  with  Austria Hunter.  GO 

47.  The  President's  protest Benton.  62 

48.  The  rigiit  to  discuss  presidential  acts Preston.  64 

49.  British  influence Randolph.  65 

50.  War  with  France Buchanan.  66 

('     51.  War  with  France Crittenden.  68 

52.  The  Mexican  war Berrien.  69 

53.  The  Union Butier.  71 

54.  The  South  and  the  Union Evans.  72 

55.  The  Union Dickinson.  74 

56.  A  defence  of  Daniel  Webster Clayton.  75 

57.  The  war  with  Mexico Corwin.  77 

58.  The  exploits  of  General  Taylor Davis.  79 

50.  Obedience  to  the  (institution Douglas.  81 

60.  Thedeath  of  O'Connell '. Seward.  82 

61.  The  Oregon  territory Hannegan.  83 

62.  The  heroism  of  the  pilgrims Choate.  85 

63.  Popular  excitement  in  elections McDuffic.  86 

64.  The  destiny  of  the  United  States Hilliard.  88 

65.  The  famuie  in  Ireland Prentiss.  89 

66.  Republics Legare.  90 

67.  A  monument  to  Washington Winthrop.  91 

68.  The  dissolution  of  the  Union Stewart.  93 

69.  Free  discussion Burgess.  95 

70.  Northern  laborers J^aylor.  97 

71.  The  destiny  of  America Hilliard.  93 

72.  California Tyng.  99 

73.  The  development  of  our  country Henry.  100 

74.  Profaueness Chapin.  101 

75.  Washington,  a  man  of  genius Whipple.  102 

76.  The  death  of  Washington Paine.  103 

77.  The  death  of  General  Harrison McLaren.  104 

78.  The  death  of  General  Taylor Stevens.  105 

79.  A  religious  spirit  in  education Kelly.  107 

80.  Mental  diligence Benedict.  108 

81.  A  good  book Milton.  109 

82.  Trutli  and  falsehood Milton.  110 

B3.  The  institutions  of  England Peel.  110 

84.  The  Irish  distmbance  bill O'Connell.  Ill 

85.  The  miseries  of  Ireland Shiel.  112 

86.  The  vanity  of  learning Watson.  114 

87.  The  miseries  of  war Chalmers.  115 

88.  The  benevolence  of  God Chalmers.  116 

89.  The  power  of  temptation Chalmers.  117 

90.  Speech  of  Caius  Marius Sallust.  118 

91.  The  progress  of  liberty *. Webster.  119 

92.  Our  country's  origin Webster.  120 

93.  The  spirit  of  human  liberty Webster.  121 

94.  The  patriot's  courage Clay.  121 

95.  The  survivors  of  the  Revolution Everett.  122 

96.  Territorial  extension Everett.  123 

97.  The  experiment  of  self-government Everett.  124 

98.  Revolutionary  struggles Everett.  125 

99.  War  with  Fjunce Calhoun.  126 

100.  The  preservation  of  the  Union Cass.  127 

101.  Agriculture Dickinaov-.  129 


CONTENTS.  11' 

PAGK 

102.  An  appeal  for  union Berrien.  130 

103.  The  State  of  Virginia Butler.  131 

104.  Suspension  of  diplomatic  relations  with  Austria Hunter.  132 

105.  The  South Jefferson  Davis.  134 

106.  The  California  gold  mines Benton.  136 

107.  The  federal  compact Morris.  137 

108.  Peace  and  national  honor Morris.  138 

109.  The  triumphs  of  science Dix.  139 

110.  The  influence  of  Christianity Dix.  140 

111.  Intelligence  a  national  safeguard Woodbury.  141 

112.  The  pei-manence  of  American  liberty McDvffie.  142 

113.  New  England,and  the  Union Prentiss.  143 

114.  The  true  reformers Greeley.  144 

115.  Self-sacrificing  ambition Orecley.  145 

116.  The  admission  of  California Winthrop.  146 

117.  New  territories Winthrop.  148 

118.  Ignorance  and  superstition Barnard.  149 

1 19.  The  light  of  knowledge Barnard.  151 

120.  Ignorance  a  crime  in  a  republic Mann.  151 

121.  Popular  education  the  concern  of  every  citizen : Randall:  152 

122.  Classical  studies Story.  153 

123.  The  freedom  of  the  press Story.  154 

124.  The  fate  of  the  Indians Story.  155 

125.  The  example  of  our  forefathers Sparks.  156 

126.  Oratory  in  Greece  and  Rome Wirt.  157 

127.  The  Declaration  of  American  Independence Bradish.  158 

128.  The  noble  deeds  of  the  Revolution Bradish.  159 

129.  The  disinterestedness  of  Washington Paine.  160 

130.  Classical  and  Christian  literature Sumner.  162 

13 1 .  American  literature Orimhe.  163 

132.  The  end  of  the  world Taylor.  164 

133.  Party  spirit Qaston.  165 

134.  The  warfare  of  truth Upham.  165 

135.  Our  obligations  to  the  pilgrims Whelpley.  166 

136.  Woman's  influence Carter.  167 

137.  The  freedom  of  science  in  America Verplanck.  168 

138.  Practical  scholarship Verplanck.  169 

139.  Independence  of  thought  in  America Verplanck.  170 

140.  American  scholars  independent  of  a  nobility Verplanck.  171 

141.  Free  institutions  ennobling Verplanck.  172 

142.  The  evils  of  political  parties Verplanck.  173 

143.  Military  glory Channing.  174 

144.  False  courage Channing.  175 

145.  Tru«^  courage Channing.  176 

146.  Military  courage Channing.  176 

147.  The  moral  character  of  war Channing.  YTl 

148.  Truth Channing.  178 

149.  Thought  the  privilege  of  all  men Channing.  178 

150.  The  capacity  of  the  people  for  knowledge Channing.  179 

151.  The  nobility  of  mind Channing.  180 

152.  Social  changes Channing.  181 

153.  The  value  of  books Channing.  182 

154.  Hard  work Channing.  183 

155.  The  dignity  of  human  nature Dewey.  184 

156.  Attention,  the  soul  of  genius .' . . .  Dewey.  185 

157.  The  nobility  of  labor Dewey.  13S 


12  CONTENTS 

*  rAan 

158.  Howard,  the  philanthropist Wayland.  187 

159.  The  emptiness  of  human  gloiy Wayland.  188 

160.  The  mission  of  the  Saxon  race Tyng.  180 

161.  Political  demagogues Henry,  190 

162.  The  pacific  age Sprague.  191 

163.  Language Hale.  1 92 

164.  The  Bible  friendly  to  Uberty. HaJ.e.  193 

165.  The  political  knave Beecher.  193 

166.  Address  to  a  missionary Red  Jacket.  194 

167.  Address  to  Gen.  Street Black  Hawk.  196 

168.  Conciliation  with  the  colonies Burke.  197 

169.  Reform  in  Parliament Brougham.  198 

170.  Refonn  in  the  elections Brougham.  199' 

171.  Sympathy  for  man  around  the  throne  of  God Chalmers.  20O 

172.  The  British  constitution PhilpoUs.  201 

173.  Autumn jilison.  202 

174.  Charity St.  Paul.  203 

175.  The  rights  of  the  i>lebeians Canuleius.  204 

176.  Brutu»(m  the  death  of  Caesar Shakspeare.  204 

»77.  Hamlet  to  the  players ^Mkspearc.  205 


COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

1.  One  good  turn  deserves  another Oilman.  207 

2:  The  dilatory  scholar Oilman.  207 

3.  Orator  Puff .anonymous.  208 

4.  The  Jackdaw Cowper.  209 

5.  Nose  vs.  Eyes Cowper.  210 

6.  Conversation Coujper.  211 

7.  The  removal Anonymous.  212 

8.  My  aunt Holmes.  213 

9.  The  features A-nonymous.  21 4 

10.  Morning  meditations Hood.  215 

11.  Major  Brown Hood.  210 

12.  The  duel Hood.  219 

13.  John  Day Hood.  221 

14.  The  troublesome  wife Anonijmous.  222 

15.  The  cold-water  man Saxe.  224 

16.  Youthful  precocity Saxc.  225 

17.  The  conflagration Ejected  Addresses.  220 

18.  Follow  your  nose Anonymous.  228 

19.  Economy Jrolcot.  22S 

20.  Shamus  O'Brien .*. Anonymous.  230" 

21.  The  same.— Part  Second Anonymous.  231 

22.  Tlie  same.— Part  Third Anonymous.  ^Ji 

23.  The  rhyming  apothecary Caiman.  236 

24.  Brown  Stout Anonymous.  238 

25.  The  farmer's  blimder Anonymous.  239 

26.  Hasty  pudding Barlow.  241 

27.  Song  of  the  Speaker Anonymous.  243 

28.  Editorial  musiugs Anonymous.  244 

29.  The  alarmed  skipper -   Fields.  245 

30.  A  Yankee  IjtIc..., ,,.., Peters.  247 


UONTENTS.  15 

31.  Village  greatness Ray.  248 

32.  Old  Grimes Oreenc.  249 

33.  The  poet Clarke.  251 

34.  The  world's  a  stage Anonymous.  2.52 

35.  Improvement Dow,  Jr.  253 

36.  Despair Dow,  Jr.  254 

37.  Nature Dow,  Jr.  255 

3a  Slumber Dennie.  25G 

39.  The  same— Part  Second Dennie.  2&7 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

1.  The  soldier's  tear Bailey.  259 

2.  The  veteran BaUey.  260 

3.  The  deserter BaUey.  260 

4.  The  pilot Bailey.  261 

5.  The  old  man's  revery Bailey.  262 

6.  Oft  in  religion's  name Bailey.  262 

7.  The  mibeliever Bailey.  263 

8.  The  dream  of  darkness Bacon.  264 

9.  I  remember,  I  remember Hood.  265 

10.  Gold Hood.  266 

11.  Avenged  honor Colman.  266 

12.  Posthxxmous  fame Colman.  267 

13.  Monterey Hoffman.  268 

14.  Buena  Vista Pike.  269 

15.  Darkness Byron.  270 

16.  Solitude Byron.  272 

17.  Mazeppa Byron.  272 

18.  The  ocean Byron.  274 

19.  Belshazzar's  vision Byron.  276 

20.  The  shipwreck Byron.  277 

21.  The  battle  of  Albuera Bijron.  278 

22.  Brutus  reproaching  Cassius Shakspeare.  279 

23.  Cardinal  Wolsey's  soliloquy Shakspeare.  280 

24.  Cardinal  Wolsey's  address  to  Cromwell Shakspeare.  280 

25.  Soliloquy  of  Henry  IV Shakspeare.  281 

26.  Soliloquy  of  Richard  III Shakspeare.  282 

27.  The  seven  ages  of  man Shakspeare.  283 

28.  Despair Shakspeare.  284 

29.  The  advice  of  Polonius  to  his  son Shakspeare.  284 

30.  Mercy Shakspeare.  285 

31.  Mark  Antony's  oration Shakspeare.  28G 

32.  Address  of  Marullus  to  the  mob Shakspeare.  287 

33.  Richmond's  address  to  his  soldiers Shakspeare.  288 

34.  Soliloquy  of  Hamlet's  uncle Shakspeare.  2P8 

35.  Cheerfulness Shakspeare.  2t  J 

36.  Hamlet's  soliloquy Shakspeare.  290 

37.  Royal  ceremony Shakspeare.  291 

38.  Soliloquy  of  Henry  VI Shakspeare.  292 

39.  Clarence's  dream , Shakspeare.  203 

40.  Martnion  and  the  Douglas Scott.  294 


14 


CONTENTS. 


TAOm 

41.  The  death  of  Marmion Scott.  296 

42.  The  love  of  country Scott.  297 

43.  Rienzi'a  address  to  the  Romans Mitford.  298 

44.  Speech  of  Sempronius  for  war Addison.  299 

45.  Speech  of  Lucms  for  peace Addison.  299 

46.  Speech  of  Cato Addison.  300 

47.  The  Baron's  last  banquet Oreenc.  301 

48.  Bernardo  and  King  Alphouso Lockhart.  302 

49.  The  taking  of  Warsaw Campbell.  304 

50.  The  song  of  Marion's  men Bryant.  305 

51.  The  village  blacksmith Bryant.  307 

52.  Alaric,  the  Visigoth Everett.  308 

53.  Woodman,  spare  that  tree Morris.  310 

54.  The  Chieftain's  daughter Morris.  311 

55.  The  mothers  of  the  west Oallagher.  311 

56.  The  Indian  council Hosmer.  313 

57.  The  pioneers  of  America Hosmer'.  314 

58.  The  Indian  tribes Hosmer.  315 

59.  Death's  mission Everest.  316 

60.  Death's  triumphs Everest.  318 

61.  The  aged  prisoner Whittier.  319 

62.  The  Semuiole's  reply Patten.  321 

63.  Beauty  everywhere Marshall,  322 

64.  Our  country Marshall.  323 

65.  Work Marshall.  324 

66.  The  dram-drinker Rockwell.  325 

67.  The  death-flre Stephens.  326 

68.  The  battle  of  Ivry Macaulay.  327 

69.  The  angel  of  death s Bailey.  329 

70.  The  madman «.  Jtf.  C.  331 

71.  A  fever  dream Harney.  333 

72.  Thoughts  in  a  library Lynch.  335 

73.  The  old  man  in  December Hcrrman.  330 

74.  Rome Anonymous.  337 

75.  The  poor-liouse Crabbc.  338 

76.  The  hermit Home.  339 

77.  Speech  of  Caius  Gracchus Knowles.  340 

78.  BeJshazzar's  warning Croly.  340 

79.  The  death  of  Napoleon McLellan.  342 

80.  The  Roman  soldier Atherstone.  343 

81.  The  same.— Part  Second Atherstone.  344 

82.  Thought  without  utterance Tupper.  345 

83.  The  power  of  eloquence Tupper.  34G 

84.  Trifles Tupper.  34? 

85.  The  good  man , Tupper.  34fc 

86.  Equality Tupper.  349 

87.  Books , Tupper.  349 

88.  Beauty Tupper.  350 

89.  Cruelty Tupper.  351 

90.  The  Chamois  hunter Tupper.  352 

91.  Dreams Tupper.  354 

92.  Arminius '. Praed.  355 

93.  Alexander  and  Diogenes Praed.  356 

94.  What  makes  a  hero  ? Taylor.  358 

95.  The  landing  of  the  Pilgrims Hemans.  359 

96.  Drones ^. . .  Shelley.  360 


CONTENTS.  15 

PAGH 

97.  Thanatopsis Bryant.  3G1 

98.  The  same.— Part  Second Bryant.  362 

99.  The  murdered  traveller Bryant.  303 

100.  The  heroes  of  Seventy-six Bryant.  364 

101.  The  African  chief Bryant.  365 

102.  The  hm-ricane Bryant.  367 

103.  The  tweiityrsecond  of  December Bryant.  368 

104.  A  Psalm  of  life Longfellow.  369 

105.  The  leper Willis.  370 

106.  Nature Street.  371 

107.  The  poor  Indian Street.  373 

108.  The  Six  Nations Street.  374 

109.  A  forest  nook Street.  376 

110.  The  poor  and  the  rich Lowell.  377 

111.  The  fight  of  Paso  del  Mar Taylor.  378 

112.  Lament  of  the  Indian  Chieftain Hosmer.  380 

113.  Origin  of  the  crow Hosmer.  382 

114.  Watchwords Cox.  383 

115.  The  American  flag Drake..  384 

116.  Old  Ironsides Holmes.  385 

1 17.  The  pilgrims Sigourncy.  386 

118.  Time Prentice.  387 

119.  The  Yankee  ships Fields.  388 

120.  Press  on Benjamin.  389 

121.  The  marmers Benjamin,  390 

122.  What  the  end  shall  be Jlnon7jmou3.  391 

12.3.  Rest. Marshall.  392 

124.  Another  life Marshall.  393 

125.  The  flight  of  the  Nundowagas Marshall.  394 

120.  Iron Hale.  396 

127.  Rome Bacon.  397 

128.  The  last  revolutionary Dow.  399 

129.  The  shipwreck McLaughlin.  400 

130.  Cold Pollok.  401 

131.  The  storming  of  Vera  Cruz Jlnonymous.  402 

132.  Ambition,  ftdse  and  true inonymous.  403 

133.  The  oaken  bucket fVocdworth.  404 

134.  The  gladiator .Tones.  405 

133.  The  Kaiser Howitt.  407 

136.  Albuquerque Dawes.  408 

137.  Look  aloft Lawrence.  409 

138.  The  ocean Cornwall.  409 

139.  The  charnel  ship Anonymous.  411 

140.  The  phantom  sliip Anonymous.  412 

141.  The  serpent  of  the  still Anonymous.  415 

142.  Washington Cook.  416 

143.  The  seventh  plague  of  Egypt Anonymovs.  All 

144.  Friends  separated  by  death » Montgomery.  420 

145.  The  charge Percival.  420 

146.  The  Bunker  Hill  Monument Pierpont.  421 

147.  The  Marseilles  Hymn De  VIsle.  422 

148.  Speak  not  harshly Crosby.  423 

149.  The  death  of  Major  Ringgold Crosby.  424 

150.  The  death  of  Colonel  Clay Crosby.  42.5 

15L  General  Scott Crosby.  425 

152.  The  death  of  General  Taylor Crosby.  426 


16  CONTENTS. 

153.  Tipperary ..Davis.  428 

154.  The  vow  of  Tipperary Davis.  423 

155.  The  battle  of  Limerick Davis.  429 

156.  Paddies  evermore .Anonymous.  431 

157.  The  song  of  the  poor Anonymous.  432 

158.  The  O'Kavanagh Shea.  433 

159.  Woman's  sufferings JVorton.  434 

160.  The  power  of  dreams J^Torton.  435 

161.  The  fallen  leaves J<rorton.  437 

162.  Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth JSTorton.  438 

103.  Advice  to  the  aspirant  for  fame Mackay.  439 


DIALOGUES. 

1.  A  quarrel  scene • Ilomt    44i 

2.  Lochiel's  warning Campbell.  444 

3.  A  scene  from  William  Tell Knowlcs.  446 

4.  Goody  Grim  v.  Lapstone Mathews.  451 

5.  David  and  Goliah More.  455 

6.  The  invalid  and  the  politician Murphy.  457 

7.  The  lawyer  and  the  politician Murphy.  459 

8.  A  nautical  examination , Anonymous.  4C2 

9.  Scene  from  Pizarro   Kotzchuc.  464 

10.  The  same.— Second  Scene Kotzcbuc.  406 

11.  Pedantry Anonymous.  468 

12.  Irish  courtesy Sedley.  473 

13.  Alderman  Smuggler — Sir  Harry  Wildair — John Anonymous.  475 

14.  Sir  Philip  Blandford— Ashfleld Morton.  477 

15.  Indigestion Anonymous.  479 

16.  Ollapod— Sir  Charles  Cropland Colman.  481 

17.  Old  Fickle— Tristram  Fickle Allingham.  484 

18.  Doctor  Wisepate— Thady  O'Keen— Robert Oulton.  487 

19.  Scene  from  Catiline Crohj.  490 

20.  Van  den  Bosch  and  Van  Artevelde Taylor.  493 

21.  Tell  and  his  countrymen Knowlcs.  496 

22.  The  Frenchman's  lesson  in  English Anonymous.  498 

23.  The  point  of  honor Shakspcarc.  499 


THE 

PRACTICAL  AM)  COMPREIMSIVE 

BOOK  OF  ORATORY. 


SELECTIONS    IN   PROSE 


1.      THE    PERFECT  ORATOR. 

Imagine  to  yourselves  a  Demosthenes  addressing  tlie  most 
illustrious  assembly  in  the  world,  upon  a  point  whereon  the  fate 
of  the  most  illustrious  of  nations  depended. — How  awful  such  a 
meeting !  How  vast  the  subject !  Is  man  possessed  of  talents 
adequate  to  the  great  occasion  ?  Adequate  ? — yes,  superior. 
By  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  the  augustness  of  the  assembly 
is  lost  in  the  dignity  of  the  orator ;  and  the  importance  of  the 
subject  for  a  while  superseded,  by  the  admiration  of  his  talents. 
With  what  strength  of  argument,  with  what  powers  of  the  fancy, 
withwha't  emotions  of  the  heart,  does  he  assault  and  subjugate  the 
whole  man,  and,  at  once,  captivate  his  reason,  his  imagination, 
and  his  passions  !  To  effect  this,  must  be  the  utmost  effort  of 
the  most  improved  state  of  human  nature. — Not  a  faculty  that 
he  possesses  is  here  unemployed ;  not  a  faculty  that  he  pos- 
sesses but  is  here  exerted  to  its  highest  pitch.  All  his  internal 
powers  are  at  work ;  all  his  external  testify  their  energies. 
Within,  the  memory,  the  fancy,  the  judgment,  the  passions,  are 
all  busy  ;  without,  every  muscle,  every  nerve,  is  exerted ;  not  a 
feature,  not  a  limb,  but  speaks.  The  organs  of  the  body, 
attuned  to  the  exertions  of  the  mind,  through  the  kindred  organs 
of  the  hearers,  instantaneously,  as  it  were  with  an  electrical 
epirit,  vibrate  those  energies  from  soul  to  soul. — Notwithstand- 
ing the  diversit}''  of  minds  in  such  a  multitude,  by  the  hghtning 
of  eloquence,  they  are  melted  into  one  mass — the  whole  assem- 
bly, actuated  in  one  and  the  same  way,  become,  as  it  were,  but 
one  man,  and  have  but  one  voice.  The  universal  cry  is — "  Let 
us  march  against  Philip — let  us  fight  for  our  hberties — ^let  us 
conquer— or  die."  AmnNYMous. 


2.      REPLY    TO    THE    DUKE    OF    GRAFTON. 

My  Lords — I  am  amazed ;  yes,  my  Lords,  I  am  amazed  at 
nis  grace's  speech.  The  noble  duke  cannot  look  before  him, 
behind  him,  or  on  either  side  of  him,  without  seeing  some  noble 
peer,  who  owes  his  seat  in  this  house  to  his  successful  exertions 
in  the  profession  to  which  I  belong.  Does  he  not  feel  that  it  is 
as  honorable  to  owe  it  to  these,  as  to  being  the  accident  of  an 
accident  ?  To  all  these  noble  lords  the  language  of  the  noble 
duke  is  as  applicable  and  as  insulting  as  it  is  to  myself.  But  I 
do  not  fear  to  meet  it  single  and  alone.  No  one  venerates  the 
peerage  more  than  I  do ;  but,  my  lords,  I  must  say,  that  the 
peerage  solicited  me,  not  I  the  peerage. 

Nay,  more — I  can  say,  and  will  say,  that  as  a  peer  of  parlia- 
ment, as  speaker  of  this  right  honorable  house,  as  keeper  of  the 
great  seal,  as  guardian  of  his  majesty's  conscience,  as  lord  high 
chancellor  of  England,  nay,  even  in  that  character  alone,  in 
which  the  noble  duke  would  think  it  an  affront  to  be  considered, 
but  which  character  none  can  deny  me — as  a  man,  I  am,  at  this 
time,  as  much  respected  as  the  proudest  peer  I  now  look  down 

"P«"-  Thuklow. 


3.      ORATORY,  AN  ART. 

One  cause  of  our  not  excelling  in  oratory  is  our  neglecting  to 
cultivate  the  art  of  speaking — of  speaking  our  own  language. 
We  acquire  the  power  of  expressing  our  ideas  almost  insensibly  ; 
we  consider  it  as  a  thing  that  is  natural  to  us ;  we  do  not  regard 
it  as  an  art :  it  is  an  art,  a  difficult  art,  an  intricate  art ;  and  out 
ignorance  of  that  circumstance,  or  our  omitting  to  give  it  due 
consideration,  is  the  cause  of  our  deficiency. 

In  the  infant,  just  beginnings  to  articulate,  you  will  observe 
every  inflection  that  is  recognized  in  the  most  accurate  treatise 
on  elocution  ;  you  will  observe,  further,  an  exact  proportion  in 
its  several  cadences,  and  a  speaking  expression  in  its  tones.  I 
say,  you  will  observe  these  things  in  almost  every  infant.  Se- 
lect a  dozen  men,  men  of  education,  erudition ;  ask  them  to 
read  a  piece  of  animated  composition — you  will  be  fortunate  if 
you  find  one  in  the  dozen  that  can  raise  or  depress  his  voice, 
inflect  or  modulate  it,  as  the  variety  of  the  subject  requires. 
What  has  become  of  the  inflections,  the  cadences,  and  the  mod- 


J.  SHERIDAN  KNOWLES.  19 

ulation  of  llie  infant  ?  They  have  not  been  exercised ;  they 
have  been  neglected  ;  they  have  never  been  put  into  the  hands 
of  the  artist,  that  he  might  apply  them  to  their  proper  use  ; 
they  have  been  laid  aside,  spoiled,  abused ;  and,  ten  to  one, 
they  will  never  be  good  for  any  thing  ! 

J.  Sheridan  Knowles 


4.      THE  VALUE  OF  ORATORY. 

The  principal  means  of  communicating  our  ideas  are  two- 
speech  and  writing.  The  former  is  the  parent  of  the  latter  ;  it 
IS  the  more  important,  and  its  highest  efforts  are  called  oratory. 

If  we  consider  the  very  early  period  at  which  we  begin  to 
exercise  the  faculty  of  speech,  and  the  frequency  with  which  we 
exercise  it,  it  must  be  a  subject  of  surprise  that  so  few  excel  in 
oratory.  In  any  enlightened  community  you  will  find  numbers 
who  are  highly  skilled  in  some  particular  art  or  science,  to  the 
study  of  which  they  did  not  apply  themselves  till  they  had  al- 
most arrived  at  the  stage  of  manhood.  Yet,  with  regard  to  the 
powers  of  speech,  those  powers  which  the  very  second  year  of 
our  existence  generally  calls  into  action,  the  exercise  of  which 
goes  on  at  our  sports,  our  studies,  our  walks,  our  very  meals ; 
and  which  is  never  long  suspended,  except  at  the  hour  of  re- 
freshing sleep, — with  regard  to  those  powers,  how  few  surpass 
their  fellow- creatures  of  common  information  and  moderate  at- 
tainments !  how  very  few  deserve  distinction  !  how  rarely  does 
one  attain  to  eminence  ! 

In  common  conversation,  observe  the  advantage  which  the 
fluent  speaker  enjoys  over  the  man  that  hesitates  and  stumbles 
in  discourse.  With  half  his  information,  he  has  twice  his  im- 
portance ;  he  commands  the  respect  of  his  auditors ;  he  instructs 
and  gratifies  them.  In  the  general  transactions  of  business  the 
same  superiority  attends  him.  He  communicates  his  views  witli 
clearness,  precision,  and  effect ;  he  carries  his  point  by  his  mere 
readiness  ;  he  concludes  his  treaty  before  another  man  would 
have  well  set  about  it.  Does  he  plead  the  cause  of  friendship  ? 
— how  happy  is  his  friend  !  Of  charity  ? — how  fortunate  is  the 
distressed  ^  Should  he  enter  the  legislature  of  his  country,  he 
approves  himself  the  people's  bulwark  ! 

J.  Sheridan  Knowles. 


20  SEI.E0TIONS  IN  PROSE. 


O.      VINDICATION  FROM  CALUMNY. 

Mr  Lords — What  have  I  to  say  why  sentence  of  death  should 
not  be  pronounced  on  me,  according  to  law  ?  I  have  nothing 
to  say  that  can  alter  your  predetermination,  nor  that  it  will  be- 
come me  to  say,  with  any  view  to  the  mitigation  of  that  sen- 
tence, wliich  you  are  here  to  pronounce,  and  I  must  abide  by. 
But  I  have  that  to  say  which  interests  me  more  than  life,  and 
which  you  have  labored  (as  was  necessarily  your  office  in  the 
present  circumstances  of  this  oppressed  country)  to  destroy.  I 
have  much  to  say  why  my  reputation  should  be  rescued  from 
the  load  of  false  accusation  and  calumny  which  has  been  heaped 
upon  it.  I  do  not  imagine  that,  seated  where  you  are,  your 
minds  can  be  so  free  from  impurity  as  to  receive  the  least  im- 
pression from  what  I  am  going  to  utter.  I  have  no  hopes  that 
I  can  anchor  my  character  in  the  breast  of  a  court,  constituted 
and  trammelled  as  this  is.  I  only  wish,  and  it  is  the  utmost  I 
expect,  that  your  lordships  may  suffer  it  to  float  down  your 
memories,  untainted  by  the  foul  breath  of  prejudice,  until  it  finds 
some  more  hospitable  harbor  to  shelter  it  from  the  storm  by 
which  it  is  at  present  buffeted.  Was  I  only  to  suffer  death,  after 
being  adjudged  guilty  by  your  tribunal,  I  should  bow  in  silence, 
and  meet  the  fate  that  awaits  me  without  a  murmur  ;  but  the 
sentence  of  the  law  which  delivers  my  body  to  the  executioner 
will,  through  the  ministry  of  that  law,  labor,  in  its  own  vindica- 
tion, to  consign  my  character  to  obloquy ;  for  there  must  be 
guilt  somewhere ;  whether  in  the  sentence  of  the  court,  or  in 
the  catastrophe,  posterity  must  determine.  A  man  in  my  situa- 
tion, my  lords,  has  not  only  to  encounter  the  difficulties  of  for- 
tune, and  the  force  of  power  over  minds  which  it  has  corrupted 
or  subjugated,  but  the  difficulties  of  established  prejudice.  The 
man  dies,  but  his  memory  lives  :  that  mine  may  not  perish,  that 
it  may  live  in  the  respect  of  my  countrymen,  I  seize  upon  this 
opportunity  to  vindicate  myself  from  some  of  the  charges  alleged 
against  me.  When  my  spirit  shall  be  wafted  to  a  more  friendly 
port, — when  my  shade  shall  have  joined  the  bands  of  those 
martyred  heroes  who  have  shed  their  blood  on  the  scaffold,  and 
in  the  field,  in  defence  of  their  country  and  of  virtue,  this  is  my 
hope  :  I  wish  that  my  memory  and  name  may  animate  those 
who  survive  me,  while  I  look  down  with  complacency  on  the 
destruction  of  that  perfidious  government  which  upholds  its 
domination  by  blasphemy  of  the  Most  High, — which  displays 
its  power  over  man  as  over  the  beasts  of  the  forest, — which 


EOBEKT  ER£M:ET.  21 

sets  man  upon  his  brother,  and  lifts  his  hand,  in  the  name  oi 
God,  against  the  throat  of  his  f^jllow,  who  beheves  or  doubts  a 
little  more  or  a  little  less  than  the  government  standard, — .1 
government  which  is  steeled  to  barbarity  by  the  cries  of  the  or- 
phans, and  the  tears  of  the  widows  which  it  has  made. 

I  appeal  to  the  immaculate  God,  I  SAvear  by  the  throne  of 
Heaven,  before  which  I  must  shortly  appear,  by  the  blood  of 
the  murdered  patriots  who  have  gone  before  me,  that  my  con- 
duct has  been,  through  all  this  peril,  and  all  my  purposes,  gov- 
erned only  by  the  convictions  which  I  have  uttered,  and  by  no 
other  view  than  that  of  their  cure,  and  the  emancipation  of  my 
country  from  the  superinhuman  oppression  under  which  she  has 
so  long  and  too  patiently  travailed  ;  and  that  I  confidently  and 
assuredly  hope  that,  wild  and  cliimerieal  as  it  may  appear,  there 
is  still  union  and  strength  in  Ireland  to  accomplish  this  noblest 
enterprise.  Of  this  I  speak  with  the  confidence  of  intimate 
knowledge,  and  with  the  consolation  that  appertains  to  that 
confidence.  Think  not,  my  lord,  I  say  this  for  the  petty  grati- 
fication of  giving  you  a  transitory  uneasiness  ;  a  man  who  never 
yet  raised  his  voice  to  assert  a  lie,  will  not  hazard  his  character 
with  posterity  by  asserting  a  falsehood  on  a  subject  so  impor- 
tant to  his  country,  and  on  an  occasion  like  this.  Yes,  my  lords, 
a  man  who  does  not  wish  to  have  his  epitaph  written  until  liis 
country  is  hberated,  will  not  leave  a  weapon  in  the  power  of 
envy,  nor  a  pretence  to  impeach  the  probity  which  he  means  to 
preserve,  even  in  the  grave  to  which  tyranny  consigns  him. 

Robert  Emmet. 


6.      THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

I  AM  charged  with  being  an  emissary  of  France  !  An  emis- 
sary of  France !  And  for  what  end  ?  It  is  alleged  that  I 
wished  to  sell  the  independence  of  my  country  !  And  for  what 
end  ?  Was  this  the  object  of  my  ambition !  And  is  this  the 
mode  by  which  a  tribunal  of  justice  reconciles  contradictions  ? 
No,  I  am  no  emissary  ;  and  my  ambition  was  to  hold  a  place 
among  the  deliverers  of  my  country ;  not  in  power,  nor  in  profit, 
but  in  the  glory  of  the  achievement !  Sell  my  country's  inde- 
pendence to  France  !  And  for  what  ?  Was  it  for  a  change  of 
masters  ?  No  !  But  for  ambition.  0,  my  country,  was  it  per- 
sonal ambition  that  could  influence  me  !  Had  it  been  the  soul 
of  my  actions,  could  I  not,  by  my  education  and  fortune,  by  th« 


T2  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

rank  and  consideration  of  my  family,  have  placed  myself  among 
the  proudest  of  my  oppressors  ?  My  country  was  my  idol ;  to 
it  I  sacrificed  every  selfish,  every  endearing  sentiment ;  and  for 
it  I  now  offer  up  my  life.  0  God  !  No,  my  lord  ;  I  acted  as 
an  Irishman,  determined  on  delivering  my  country  from  the  yoke 
of  a  foreign  and  unrelenting  tyranny,  and  from  the  more  galling 
yoke  of  a  domestic  faction,  which  is  its  joint  partner  and  per- 
petrator in  the  parricide,  for  the  ignominy  of  existing  with  an 
exterior  of  splendor  and  of  conscious  depravity.  It  was  the 
wish  of  my  heart  to  extricate  my  country  from  this  doubly  riv- 
eted despotism. 

I  wished  to  place  her  independence  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
power  on  earth  ;  I  wished  to  exalt  her  to  that  proud  station  in 
the  world.  I  wished  to  procure  for  my  country  the  c^uarantce 
wdiich  Washington  procured  for  America.  To  procure  an  aid 
which,  by  its  example,  would  be  as  important  as  its  valor ;  dis- 
ciphned,  gallant,  pregnant  with  science  and  experience ;  who 
would  perceive  the  good,  and  polish  the  rough  points  of  our 
character ;  they  would  come  to  us  as  strangers,  and  leave  us  as 
friends,  after  sharing  in  our  perils  and  elevating  our  destiny. 
These  were  my  objects,  not  to  receive  new  task-masters,  but  to 
expel  old  tyrants  ;  these  were  my  views,  and  these  only  became 
Irishmen.  It  was  for  these  ends  I  sought  aid  from  France,  be- 
cause France,  even  as  an  enemy,  could  not  be  more  implacable 
than  the  enemy  already  in  the  bosom  of  my  country. 

Robert  Emmet. 


7.      THE  SAME. PART  THIRD. 

Let  no  man  dare,  when  I  am  dead,  to  charge  me  with  dis- 
honop!  let  no  man  attaint  my  memory,  by  believing  that  I 
could  have  engaged  in  any  cause  but  that  of  my  country's  lib- 
erty and  independence ;  or,  that  I  could  have  become  the  pliant 
minion  of  power,  in  the  oppressicJn  or  the  miseries  of  my  coun- 
trymen. The  proclamation  of  the  provisional  government  speaks 
for  our  views ;  no  inference  can  be  tortured  from  it  to  coun- 
tenance barbarity  or  debasement  at  home,  or  subjection,  humil- 
iation, or  treachery  from  abroad  ;  I  would  not  have  submitted 
to  a  foreign  oppressor,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  would  resist 
the  foreign  and  domestic  oppressor.  In  the  dignity  of  freedom 
I  would  have  fought  upon  the  threshold  of  my  country,  and  its 
enemy  should  enter  only  by  passing  over  my  lifeless  corpse- 


KOBERT  EACMET. WinTESTDT".  23 

Am  I,  who  lived  but  for  my  coimtiy,  ;^nil  who  liavo  subjected 
myself  to  the  dangers  of  the  jealous  and  watchful  oppressor,  and 
the  bondage  of  the  grave,  only  to  give  my  countrymen  theit 
rights,  and  my  country  her  independence, — am  I  to  be  loaded 
with  calumny,  and  not  suffered  to  resent  or  repel  it  ?  No — God 
forbid  ! 

If  the  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead  participate  in  the  concerns 
and  cares  of  those  who  are  dear  to  them  in  this  transitory  life, 

0  ever  dear  and  venerated  shade  of  my  departed  father,  look 
down  with  scrutiny  upon  the  conduct  of  your  suffering  son,  and 
see  if  I  have,  even  for  a  moment,  deviated  from  those  principles 
of  morality  and  patriotism  which  it  was  your  care  to  instil  into 
my  youthful  mind,  and  for  which  I  am  now  to  offer  up  my  hfe ! 

My  lords,  you  are  impatient  for  the  sacrifice  ;  the  blood  which 
you  seek  is  not  congealed  by  the  artificial  terrors  which  surround 
your  victim  ;  it  circulates  warmly  and  unruffled  through  the 
channels  which  God  created  for  noble  purposes,  but  which  you 
are  bent  to  destroy,  for  purposes  so  grievous  that  they  cry  to 
heaven.    Be  yet  patient !    I  have  but  a  few  words  more  to  say  ; 

1  am  going  to  my  cold  and  silent  grave ;  my  lamp  of  life  is 
nearly  extinguished  ;  my  race  is  run  ;  the  grave  opens  to  receive 
me,  and  I  sink  into  its  bosom  !  I  have  but  one  request  to  ask 
at  my  departure  from  this  w^orld  :  it  is  the  charity  of  its  silence  ! 
Let  no  man  write  ray  epitaph ;  for,  as  no  man  who  knows  my 
motives  dare  now  vindicate  them,  let  not  prejudice  or  ignorance 
asperse  th6m.  Let  them  and  me  repose  in  obscurity  and.  peace, 
and  my  tomb  remain  uninscribed  until  other  times  and  other 
men  can  do  justice  to  my  character.  When  my  country  takes 
her  place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth,  then,  and  not  till  then, 
let  my  epitaph  be  written.  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^ 


8.      DEFENCE  OF  SMITH  o'bRIEN. 
(Delivered  during  the  recent  rebellion  in  Ireland.) 

Mr.  Smith  O'Brien,  my  client,  now  stands  at  the  bar  of  his 
country  to  answer  for  having  meant  to  subvert  the  constitution 
which  in  heart  he  adores.  His  true  offence  is,  that  he  courted 
for  yo2i  what  is  England's  glory,  and  blessing,  and  pride.  Deep- 
ly he  may  have  erred  in  pursuit  of  this  daring  object ;  w^ill  you 
avenge  his  misdirected  patriotism  by  a  dreadful  death  ? 

You  may  do  so ;  and  no  earthly  inducement  will  tempt  me 


534.  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

to  say,  if  you  pronounce  the  awful  sentence  of  guilty,  that  you 
have  not  given  the  verdict  conscience  commanded.  If  his  coun- 
trymen condemn  him,  he  will  be  ready  to  meet  his  fate  with  the 
faith  of  a  Christian,  and  with  the  firmness  of  a  man.  The  last 
accents  of  his  lips  will  breathe  a  prayer  for  Ireland's  happiness, 
Ireland's  constitutional  freedom.  The  dread  moment  that  shall 
precede  his  mortal  agonies  will  be  consoled,  if  through  his  suf- 
ferings and  his  sacrifice  some  system  of  government  shall  arise — 
which  I  aver  has  never  existed — just,  comprehensive,  impartial, 
and,  above  all,  consistent,  which  may  conduct  to  wealth,  pros- 
perity, and  greatness  the  country  he  has  loved,  not  wise  y, 
perhaps,  but  too  well. 

In  no  pitiful  strains  do  I  seek  compassion  for  my  client,  even 
in  a  case  of  blood.  I  ask  it  solemnly,  in  the  spirit  of  our  free 
constitution,  in  accordance  with  the  rooted  principles  of  our 
common  law.  This  is  a  cause  between  the  subject  and  the 
crown,  wherein  these  great  principles  might  shine  out  in  glo- 
rious perfection.  A  verdict  of  acquittal,  in  accordance  with  this 
divine  doctrine,  will  not  be  a  triumph  over  the  law.  When  the 
sovereign  seals,  by  her  coronation  oath,  the  great  compact  be- 
tween the  people  and  the  crown,  she  swears  to  execute,  in  all 
her  judgments,  justice  in  mercy.  That  same  justice  you  admin- 
ister ;  no  rigorous,  remorseless,  sanguinary  code,  but  justice  in 
mercy. 

In  nothing,  though  at  an  immeasurable  distance  still,  do  men 
on  earth  so  nearly  approach  the  attribute  of  the  Almighty  as  in 
the  administration  of  justice  tempered  with  mercy,  or  dismal 
would  be  our  fate.  As  you  hope  for  mercy  from  the  Great 
Judge,  grant  it  this  day  !  The  awful  issues  of  life  and  death 
are  in  your  hands  ;  do  justice  in  mercy  !  The  last  faint  mur- 
mur on  your  quivering  lips  will  be  for  mercy,  ere  the  immortal 
spirit  shall  wing  its  flight  to,  I  trust,  a  better  and  brighter  world  ! 

Whiteside. 


9.      VINDICATION    FROM    TREASON. 
(Delivered  during  the  recent  rebellion  in  Ireland.) 

My  Lords, — It  is  my  intention  to  say  a  few  words  only.  1 
desire  that  the  last  act  of  a  proceeding  which  has  occupied  so 
much  of  the  public  time  should  be  of  short  duration.  'Nov  have 
I  the  indelicate  wish  to  close  the  dreary  ceremony  of  a  State 
prosecution  ■vfith  a  vain  display  of  Avords.  Did  I  fear  that  here- 
after, when  I  shall  be  no  more,  the  country  I  have  tried  to  serv« 


T,  F.  MEAGIIEK.  25 

would  think  ill  of  me,  I  might  indeed  avail  myself  of  this  solemn 
moment  to  vindicate  my  sentiments  and  my  conduct.  But  I 
have  no  such  fear.  In  speaking  thus,  accuse  me  not,  my  lords, 
of  an  indecorous  presumption.  To  the  efforts  I  have  made  in 
a  just  and  a  noble  cause,  I  ascribe  no  vain  importance  ;  nor  do 
I  claim  for  those  efforts  any  high  reward.  But  it  so  happens, 
and  it  will  ever  happen  so,  that  they  who  have  tried  to  serve 
their  country,  no  matter  how  weak  the  effort  may  have  been, 
are  sure  to  receive  the  thanks  and  blessings  of  its  people. 
With  my  country,  then,  I  leave  my  memory,  my  sentiments, 
my  acts — proudly  feehng  that  th«y  require  no  vindication  from 
me  this  day.  A  jury  of  my  countrymen,  it  is  true,  have  found 
me  guilty  of  the  crime  of  which  I  stood  indicted.  For  this  I 
entertain  not  the  slightest  feeling  of  resentment  towards  them  : 
influenced  by  the  charge  of  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  they  could 
have  found  no  other  verdict.  What  of  the  charge  ?  Aiiy 
strong  observation  on  it,  I  feel  sincerely,  would  ill  befit  the 
solemnity  of  this  scene  ;  but  I  would  earnestly  beseech  of  you, 
my  lord, — you  who  preside  on  that  bench, — when  the  passions 
and  the  prejudices  of  this  hour  have  passed  away,  to  appeal  to 
your  ov/n  conscience,  and  ask  of  it.  Was  your  charge  as  it  ought 
to  be — impartial  and  indifferent  between  the  subject  and  the 
crown  ?  My  lords,  you  may  deem  this  language  unbecoming 
in  me,  and  perhaps  it  may  seal  my  fate.  But  I  am  here  to 
speak  the  truth,  whatever  it  may  cost.  I  am  here  to  regret 
nothing  I  have  ever  done — to  retract  nothing  I  have  ever  said. 
I  am  here  to  crave  with  no  lying  lip  the  life  I  consecrate  to  the 
liberty  of  my  country.  Far  from  it :  even  here, — here  where 
the  thief,  the  libertine,  the  murderer,  have  left  their  footprints 
in  the  dust, — here  on  this  spot,  where  the  shadows  of  death 
surround  me,  and  from  which  I  see  my  early  grave  in  an  ima- 
nointed  soil  opened  to  receive  me, — even  here,  encircled  by 
these  terrors,  the  hope  which  has  beckoned  me  to  the  perilous 
sea  upon  which  I  have  been  wrecked,  still  consoles,  animates, 
enraptures  me.  -  ^_  p^  ^^^^^^ 


10.      THE    SAME. PART    SECOND. 

N^o,  I  do  not  despair  of  my  poor  old  country — her  peace, 
ner  liberty,  her  glory.  For  that  country  I  can  do  no  more 
than  bid  her  hope.  To  lift  this  island  up,  to  make  her  a  bene- 
factor, instead  of  being  the  meanest  beggar  in  the  world ;  to 

2 


26  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSE. 

restore  to  her  her  native  powers  and  her  ancient  constitution  ;— 
this  has  been  my  ambition,  and  this  ambition  has  been  my 
crime.  Judged  by  the  law  of  England,  I  know  this  crime 
entails  the  penalty  of  death;  but  the  history  of  Ireland 
explains  this  crime  and  justifies  it.  Judged  by  that  history,  I 
am  no  criminal ;  you  are  no  criminal ;  you  are  no  criminal :  I 
deserve  no  punishment;  we  deserve  no  punishment.  Judged 
by  that  history,  the  treason  of  which  I  stand  convicted  loses  all 
its  guilt ;  is  sanctified  as  a  duty ;  will  be  ennobled  as  a  sacrifice. 
With  these  sentiments,  my  lord,  I  await  the  sentence  of  the 
court — having  done  what  I  felt  to  be  my  duty,  having  spoken 
what  I  felt  to  be  the  truth,  as  I  have  d(5ne  on  every  other  occa- 
sion of  my  short  career.  I  now  bid  farewell  to  the  country  of 
my  birth,  my  passion,  and  my  death, — the  country  whose  mis- 
fortunes have  invoked  my  sympathies,  whose  factions  I  have 
sought  to  still,  whose  intellect  I  have  prompted  to  a  lofty  aim, 
whose  freedom  has  been  my  fatal  dream.  I  offer  to  that 
countiy  as  a  proof  of  the  love  I  bear  her,  and  the  sincerity 
with  which  I  thought,  and  spoke,  and  struggled  for  her  free- 
dom, the  life  of  a  young  heart ;  and  with  that  life  all  the  hopes, 
the  honors,  the  endearments,  of  an  honorable  home.  Pro- 
nounce, then,  my  lords,  the  sentence  which  the  law  directs, 
and  I  will  be  prepared  to  hear  it.  I  trust  I  shall  be  prepared 
to  meet  its  execution.  1  hope  to  be  able,  with  a  pure  heart, 
and  a  perfect  composure,  to  appear  before  a  higher  tribunal — 
a  tribunal  where  a  Judge  of  infinite  goodness,  as  well  as  of 
justice,  will  preside,  and  where,  my  lords,  many,  many  of  the 
judgments  of  this  world  will  be  reversed. 

T.  F.  Meaghee 


11.      THE    INDIAN,    AS    HE    WAS    AND    IS. 

Not  many  generations  ago,  where  you  now  sit,  circled  witK 
all  that  exalts  and  embellisRes  civilized  life,  the  rank  thistle 
nodded  in  the  wind,  and  the  wild  fox  dug  his  hole  unscared. 
Here  lived  and  loved  another  race  of  beings.  Beneath  the 
same  sun  that  rolls  over  your  heads,  the  Indian  hunter  pursued 
the  panting  deer ;  gazing  on  the  same  moon  that  smiles  for  you, 
the  Indian  lover  wooed  his  dusky  mate. 

Here  the  wigwam-blaze  beamed  on  the  tender  and  helpless, 
the  council-fire  glared  on  the  wise  and  daring.  Now  they 
dipped  their  noble  limbs  in  your  sedgy  lakes,  and  now  they 


G.  SrEAGUE. — WASHINGTON  IRVING.  ^7 

paddled  the  light  canoe  along  your  rocky  shores.  Here  they 
warred ;  the  echoing  whoop,  the  bloody  grapple,  the  defying 
death-song,  all  were  here ;  and  when  the  tiger-strife  was  over, 
here  curled  the  sntoke  of  peace.  ^ 

Here,  too,  they  worshipped ;  and  from  many  a  dark  bosom 
went  up  a  pure  prayer  to  the  Great  Spirit.  He  had  not  written 
his  laws  for  them  on  tables  of  stone,  but  he  had  traced  them 
on  the  tables  of  their  hearts.  The  poor  child  of  nature  knew 
not  the  God  of  revelation,  but  the  God  of  the  universe  he 
acknowledged  in  every  thing  around. 

And  all  this  has  passed  away.  Across  the  ocean  came  a 
pilgrim  bark,  bearing  the  seeds  of  life  and  death.  The  former 
were  sown  for  you ;  the  latter  sprang  up  in  the  path  of  the 
simple  native.  Two  hundred  years  have  changed  the  character 
of  a  great  continent,  and  blotted  forever  from  its  face  a  whole 
peculiar  people.  Art  has  usurped  the  bowers  of  nature,  and 
the  anointed  children  of  education  have  been  too  powerful  for 
the  tribes  of  the  ignorant. 

As  a  race,  they  have  withered  from  the  land.  Their  arrows 
are  broken,  their  springs  are  dried  up,  their  cabins  are  in  the 
dust.  Their  council-fire  has  long  since  gone  out  on  the  shore, 
and  their  war-cry  is  fast  dying  to  the  untrodden  West.  Slowly 
and  sadly  they  climb  the  distant  mountains,  and  read  their  doom 
in  the  setting  sun.  They  are  shrinking  before  the  mighty  tide 
which  is  pressing  them  away  ;  they  must  soon  hear  the  roar  of 
the  last  wave,  which  will  settle  over  them  forever. 

G.  Sprague. 


12.      SORROW    FOR    THE    DEAD. 
(These  parts  may  be  spoken  together  or  separately.) 

SoRROV^  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sorrow  from  which  we 
refuse  to  be  divorced.  Every  other  wound  we  seek  to  heal : 
every  other  affliction  to  forget ;  but  this  wound  we  consider  it 
a  duty  to  keep  open :  this  affliction  we  cherish  and  brood  over 
in  solitude.  Where  is  the  mother  that  would  willingly  forget 
the  infant  that  perished  like  a  blossom  from  her  arms,  though 
every  recollection  is  a  pang  ?  where  is  the  child  that  would 
willingly  forget  the  most  tender  of  parents,  though  to  remember 
be  but  to  lament  ?  who,  even  in  the  hour  of  agony,  would 
forget  the  friend  over  whom  he  mourns  ?  who,  even  when  the 
tomb  is  closing  upon  the  remains  of  her  he  most  loved,  and  he 


28  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

feels  his  heart,  as  it  were,  crushed  in  the  closing  of  its  portal, 
would  accept  consolation  that  was  to  be  bought  by  forge tful- 
ness  ?  No ;  the  love  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one  of  the 
noblest  attributes  of  the  soul.  If  it  has  its  w§es,  it  has  hkewise 
its  dehghts ;  and  when  the  overwhelming  burst  of  grief  is 
calmed  into  the  gentle  tear  of  recollection,  when  the  sudden 
anguish  and  the  convulsive  agony  over  the  present  ruins  of  all 
that  we  most:  loved,  is  softened  away  into  pensive  meditation  on 
all  that  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  loveliness,  who  would  root  out 
such  a  sorrow  from  the  heart?  Though  it  may  sometimes 
throw  a  passing  cloud  even  over  the  bright  hour  of  gaiety,  or 
spread  a  deeper  sadness  over  the  hour  of  gloom,  yet  who  would 
exchange  it  even  for  the  song  of  pleasure,  or  the  burst  of 
revelry  ?  No ;  there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb  sweeter  than 
song  :  there  is  a  recollection  of  the  dead  to  which  we  turn  even 
from  the  charms  of  the  living.  Oh,  the  grave !  the  grave  !  It 
buries  every  error ;  covers  every  defect ;  extinguishes  every 
resentment.  From  its  peaceful  bosom  spring  none  but  fond 
regrets  and  tender  recollections.  Who  can  look  down  upon  the 
grave  even  of  an  enemy,  and  not  feel  a  compunctious  throb, 
that  ever  he  should  have  warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth 
that  hes  mouldering  before  him  !  WAsmNGxoN  Ieving. 


13.     THE    SAME. PART    SECOND. 

The  grave  of  those  we  loved — ^what  a  place  for  meditation ! 
There  it  is  that  we  call  up  in  long  review  the  whole  history  of 
virtue  and  gentleness,  and  the  thousand  endearments  lavished 
upon  us  almost  unheeded  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  intimacy : 
there  it  is  that  we  dwell  upon  the  tenderness,  the  solemn,  awful 
tenderness  of  the  parting  scene  :  the  bed  of  death,  with  all  its 
stifled  griefs  :  its  noiseless  attendance  :  its  mute,  watchful  assi- 
duities :  the  last  testimonies  *  of  expiring  love  :  the  feeble, 
fluttering,  thrilling  (Oh  !  how  thrilling  !)  pressure  of  the  hand  : 
the  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye,  turning  upon  us  even 
from  the  threshold  of  existence :  the  faint,  faltering  accents 
struggling  in  death  to  give  one  more  assurance  of  affection  !  ^ 

Ay,  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate !  There 
settle  the  account  with  thy  conscience  for  every  past  benefit 
unrequited,  every  past  endearment  unregarded,  of  that  being  who 
can  never,  never,  never  return  to  be  soothed  by  thy  contrition ! 


WASniNGTON  IRVmG. — JOSEPH  STOKY.  29 

If  tliou  art  a  child,  and  hast  ever  added  a  sorrow  to  the  soul, 
or  a  furrow  to  the  silvered  broAV  of  an  affectionate  parent ;  if 
thou  art  a  husband,  and  hast  ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that 
ventured  its  whole  happiness  in  thy  arms  to  doubt  one  moment 
of  thy  kindness  or  thy  truth ;  if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast 
ever  wronged  in  thought,  word,  or  deed,  the  spirit  that  gener- 
ously confided  in  thee ;  if  thou  art  a  lover,  and  hast  ever  given 
one  unmerited  pang  to  that  true  heart  that  now  lies  cold  and 
still  beneath  thy  feet;  then  be  sure  that  every  unkind  look, 
every  ungracious  word,  every  ungentle  action,  will  come  throng- 
ing back  upon  thy  memory,  and  knocking  dolefully  at  thy  soul : 
then  be  sure  that  thou  wilt  lie  down  sorrowing  and  repentant  on 
the  grave,  and  ucter  the'  unheard  groan,  and  pour  the  unavailing 
tear :  more  deep,  more  bitter,  because  unheard  and  unavailing. 

Then  weave  thy  chaplet  of  flowers,  and  strew  the  beauties  of 
nature  about  the  grave  ;  console  thy  broken  spirit,  if  thou  canst, 
with  these  tender,  yet-  futile  tributes  of  regret ;  but  take  warn- 
ing by  tlie  bitterness  of  this  thy  contrite  affliction  over  the  dead, 
and  be  more  faithful  and  affectionate  in  the  discharge  of  thy 
duties  to  the  living.  Washington  Iuving. 


14.      THE    DESTINY    OF    AMERICA. 

We  stand  the  latest,  and,  if  we  fail,  probably  the  last,  exper- 
iment of  self-government  by  the  people.  We  have  begun  it 
under  circumstances  of  the  most  auspicious  nature.  We  are 
in  the  vigor  of  youth.  Our  growth  has  never  been  checked  by 
the  oppressions  of  tyranny.  Our  constitutions  have  never  been 
enfeebled  by  the  vices  or  luxuries  of  the  Old  World.  Such  as 
Ave  are,  we  have  been  from  the  beginning  ;  simple,  hardy,  intel- 
ligent, accustomed  to  self-government  and  self-respect.  The 
Atlantic  rolls  between  us  and  any  formidable  foe. 

Within  our  own  territory,  stretching  through  many  degrees  of 
latitude  and  longitude,  we  have  the  choice  of  many  products, 
and  many  means  of  independence.  The  government  is  mild. 
The  press  is  free.  Religion  is  free.  Knowledge  reaches,  or 
may  reach,  every  home.  What  fairer  prospects  of  success  could 
be  presented  ?  What  means  more  adequate  to  accomplish  the 
subhme  end  ?  What  more  is  necessary  than  for  the  people  to 
preserve  what  they  themselves  have  created  ? 

Already  has  the  age  caught  the  spirit  of  our  institutions. 


30  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

It  has  already  ascended  the  Andes,  and  snuffed  the  breezes  of 
both  oceans.  It  has  infused  itself  into  the  hfe-blood  of  Europe, 
and  warmed  the  sunny  plains  of  France,  and  the  lowlands  of 
Holland.  It  has  touched  the  philosophy  of  Germany  and  the 
North,  and,  moving  onward  to  the  South,  has  opened  to  Greece 
the  lessons  of  her  better  days. 

Can  it  be  that  America,  under  such  circumstances,  can  betray 
herself  ?  that  she  is  to  be  added  lo  the  catalogue  of  republics, 
the  inscription  upon  whose  ruins  is,  "  They  were,  but  they  are 
not?"    Forbid  it,  my  countrymen;  forbid  it,  Heaven! 

Joseph  Stoey. 


15.     THE  B.ESP0NSIBIUTIE8  OF  AMERICA. 

The  Old  World  has  already  revealed  to  us,  in  its  unsealed 
books,  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  its  own  marvellous  struggles 
in  the  cause  of  liberty.  Greece,  lovely  Greece,  **  the  land  of 
scholars  and  the  nurse  of  arms,''  where  sister  republics  in  fair 
procession  chanted  the  praises  of  liberty  and  the  gods, — where 
and  what  is  she  ?  For  two  thousand  years  the  oppressor  has 
bound  her  to  the  earth.  Her  arts  are  no  more.  The  last  sad 
rehcs  of  her  temples  are  but  the  barracks  of  a  ruthless  soldiery ; 
the  fragments  of  her  columns  and  her  palaces  are  in  the  dust, 
yet  beautiful  in  ruin.  She  fell  not  when  the  mighty  were  upon 
her.  Her  sons  were  united  at  Thermopylae  and  Marathon  ;  and 
the  tide  of  her  triumph  rolled  back  upon  the  Hellespont.  She 
was  conquered  by  her  own  factions.  She  fell  by  the  hands  of 
her  own  people.  The  man  of  Macedonia  did  not  the  work  of 
destruction.  It  was  already  done,  by  her  own  corruptions, 
banishments,  and  dissensions. 

Rome,  repubUcan  Rome,  whose  eagles  glanced  in  the  rising 
and  setting  sun, — where  and  what  is  she  ?  The  Eternal  City 
yet  remains,  proud  even  in  her  desolation,  noble  in  her  decline, 
venerable  in  the  majesty  of  religion,  and  calm  as  in  the  com- 
posure of  death.  The  malaria*  has  but  travelled  in  the  paths 
worn  by  her  destroyers.  More  than  eighteen  centuries  have 
mourned  over  the  loss  of  her  emphe.  A  mortal  disease  was 
upon  her  vitals  before  Caesar  had  crossed  the  Rubicon.  The 
Goths,  and  Vandals,  and  Huns,  the  swarms  of  the  North,  com- 
pleted only  what  was  already  begun  at  home.  Romans  betrayed 
Rome.  The  legions  were  bought  and  sold,  but  the  people 
offered  the  tribute-money. 

When  we  reflect  on  what  has  been,  and  is,  how  is  it  possible 


JOSEPH  STOEY. DK.  H.  HUMPHREY,  81, 

not  to  feel  a  profound  sense  of  the  responsibleness  of  tliis 
republic  to  all  future  ages !  What  vast  motives  press  upon  us 
for  lofty  efforts  !  What  brilliant  prospects  invite  our  enthu- 
siasm !  What  solemn  warnings  at  once  demand  our  vigilance, 
and  moderate  our  confidence !  j^g^^^  S^^j^y. 


16.      THE  INDIAN  TRIBES. 

The  Indians  allowed  us  to  abide  by  our  own  council-fires, 
and  to  govern  ourselves  as  we  chose,  when  they  could  either 
have  dispossessed  or  subjugated  us  at  pleasure.  We  did  re- 
main, and  we  gradually  waxed  rich  and  strong.  We  wanted 
more  land,  and  they  sold  it  to  us  at  our  own  price.  Still,  we 
were  not  satisfied.  There  was  room  enough  to  the  West,  and 
we  advised  them  to  move  further  back.  If  they  took  our  ad- 
vice, well.  If  not,  we  knew  how  to  enforce  it.  And  where  are 
those  once  terrible  nations  now  ?  Driven,  alternately,  by  pur- 
chase and  by  conquest,  from  river  to  river,  and  from  mountain 
to  mountain,  they,  have  disappeared  with  their  own  gigantic 
forests ;  and  we,  their  enUghtened  heirs  at  law,  and  the  sword, 
now  plough  up  their  bones  with  as  much  indifference  as  we  do 
theii  arrows.  Shall  I  name  the  Mohegans,  the  Pequots,  the 
Iroqv.ois,  and  the  Mohawks  ?  What  has  become  of  them,  and 
of  a  hundred  other  independent  nations  which  dwelt  on  this  side 
of  the  Mississippi  when  we  landed  at  Plymouth  and  at  James- 
town ?  Here  and  there,  as  at  Penobscot,  and  Marshpee,  and 
Oneida,  you  may  see  a  diminutive  and  downcast  remnant,  wan- 
dering, like  troubled  ghosts,  among  the  graves  of  their  mighty 
progenitors.  Our  trinkets,  our  threats,  our  arms,  our  whiskey, 
our  bribes,  and  our  vices,  have  all  but  annihilated  those  vast 
physical  and  intellectual  energies  of  a  native  population,  which, 
for  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  could  make  us  quake 
and  flee  at  pleasure,  throughout  all  our  northern,  western,  and 
southern  borders.  Gone  is  the  mighty  warrior,  the  terrible 
avenger,  the  heart-bursting  orator !  Gone  is  the  terror  and 
glory  of  his  nation  ;  and  gone  forever,  from  our  elder  states,  arc 
the  red  men,  who,  like  Saul  and  Jonathan,  "  were  swifter  than 
eagles,  and  stronger  than  lions  ;"  and  who,  with  the  light  and 
advantages  which  we  enjoy,  might  have  rivalled  us  in  wealth  and 
power,  in  the  senate  and  forum,  as  I  am  sure  that  they  would 
have  sui^assed  us  in  magnanimity  and  justice. 

Da.  H.  Humphrey 


32  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSIS. 


17.      THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  GOOD, 

Why  is  it  that  the  names  of  Howard,  and  Thornton,  and 
Clarkson,  and  Wilberforce,  will  be  held  in  everlasting  remem- 
brance ?  Is  it  not  chiefly  on  account  of  their  goodness,  their 
Christian  philanthropy,  the  overflowing  and  inexhaustible  be- 
nevolence of  their  great  minds  ?  Such  men  feel  that  they  were 
not  born  for  themselves,  nor  for  the  narrow  circle  of  their  kin- 
dred ftnd  acquaintances,  but  for  the  world  and  for  posterity. 
They  delight  in  doing  good  on  a  great  scale.  Their  talents, 
their  property,  their  time,  their  knowledge,  and  experience,  and 
iufluence,  they  hold  in  constant  requisition  for  the  benefit  of  the 
poor,  the  oppressed,  and  the  perishing.  You  may  trace  them 
along  the  whole  pathway  of  life,  by  the  blessings  which  they  scat- 
ter far  and  wide.  They  may  be  likened  to  yon  noble  river,  which 
carries  gladness  and  fertility  from  state  to  state,  through  all  the 
length  of  that  rejoicing  valley,  which  it  was  made  to  bless,; — or 
to  those  summer  showers  which  pour  gladness  and  plenty  over 
all  the  regions  that  they  visit,  till  they  melt  away  into  the  glo- 
rious effulgence  of  the  setting  sun. 

Such  a  man  was  Howard,  the  prisoner's  friend.  Christian 
philanthropy  was  the  element  in  which  he  lived  and  moved,  and 
out  of  which  life  would  have  been  intolerable.  It  was  to  him 
that  kings  listened  with  astonishment,  as  if  doubtful  from  what 
world  of  pure  disinterestedness  he  had  come.  To  him  despair 
opened  her  dungeons,  and  plague  and  pestilence  could  summon 
no  terrors  to  arrest  his  investigations.  In  his  presence,  crime, 
though  girt  with  the  iron  panoply  of  desperation,  stood  amazed 
and  rebuked.  With  him  home  was  nothing,  country  was  noth- 
ing, health  was  nothing,  life  was  nothing.  His  first  and  last 
question  was,  "  What  is  the  utmost  that  I  can  do  for  degraded, 
depraved,  bleeding  humanity,  in  all  her  prison-houses  ?"  And 
what  wonders  did  he  accomphsh  !  what  astonishing  changes  in 
the  whole  system  of  prison  discipline  may  be  traced  back  to  his 
disclosures  and  suggestions,  aifd  how  many  millions,  yet  to  be 
born,  will  rise  up  and  call  him  blessed  !  Away,  all  ye  Caesars 
and  Napoleons,  to  your  own  dark  and  frightful  domains  of 
slaughter  and  misery  !  Ye  can  no  more  endure  the  light  of 
such  a  godlike  presence,  than  the  eye,  already  inflamed  to  tor 
ture  by  dissipation,  can  look  the  sun  in  the  face  at  noonday. 

Dr.  H.  Humphhetc 


HENEY  CLAY.  33 


18.      THE  PATRIOT  S  AMBITION. 


I  HAVE  been  accused  of  ambition  in  presenting  tliis  measure. 
Ambition !  inordinate  ambition !  If  I  had  thought  of  myselJ 
only,  I  should  have  never  brought  it  forward.  I  know  well  the 
perils  to  which  I  expose  myself ;  the  risk  of  alienating  faithful 
and  valued  friends,  with  but  little  prospect  of  making  new  ones, 
if  any  new  ones  could  compensate  for  the  loss  of  those  whom 
we  have  long  tried  and  loved  ;  and  the  honest  misconceptions 
both  of  friends  and  foes.  Ambition  !  If  I  had  listened  to  its 
soft  and  seducing  whispers ;  if  I  had  yielded  myself  to  the  dic- 
tates of  a  cold,  calculating,  and  prudential  policy,  I  would  have 
stood  still  and  unmoved.  I  might  even  have  silently  gazed  on 
the  raging  storm,  enjoyed  its  loudest  thunders,  and  left  those 
who  are  charged  with  the  care  of  the  vessel  of  state,  to  conduct 
it  as  they  could.  I  have  been  heretofore  often  unjustly  accused 
of  ambition.  Low,  grovelling  souls,  who  are  utterly  incapable 
of  elevating  themselves  to  the  higher  and  nobler  duties  of  pure 
patriotism — beings  who,  forever  keeping  their  own  selfish  aims 
in  view,  decide  all  public  measures  by  their  presumed  influence 
on  their  aggrandizement — judge  me  by  the  venal  rule  which 
they  prescribe  to  themselves.  I  have  given  to  the  winds  those 
false  accusations,  as  I  consign  that  which  now  impeaches  my 
motives.  I  have  no  desire  for  office,  not  even  the  highest.  Tho 
most  exalted  is  but  a  prison,  in  which  the  incarcerated  incum- 
bent daily  receives  his  cold,  heartless  visitants,  marks  his  weary 
hours,  and  is  cut  off  from  the  practical  enjoyment  of  all  the 
blessings  of  genuine  freedom.  I  am  no  candidate  for  any  office 
in  the  gift  of  the  people  of  these  states,  united  or  separated  ;  I 
never  wish,  never  expect  to  be.  Pass  this  bill,  tranquiUize  the 
country,  restore  confidence  and  affection  in  the  Union,  and  I  am 
willing  to  go  home  to  Ashland,  and  renounce  public  service  for- 
ever, I  should  there  find,  in  its  groves,  under  its  shades,  on 
its  lawns,  amidst  my  flocks  and  herds,  in  the  bosom  of  my  fam- 
ily, sincerity  and  truth,  attachment,  and  fidelity,  and  gratitude, 
which  I  have  not  always  found  in  the  walks  of  public  life.  Yes, 
I  have  ambition ;  but  it  is  the  ambition  of  being  the  humble  in- 
strument,  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  to  reconcile  a  divided  peo- 
ple ;  once  more  to  revive  concord  and  harmonjr  in  a  distracted 
land  ;  the  pleasing  ambition  of  contemplating  the  glorious  spec- 
tacle of  a  free,  united,  prosperous,  and  fraternal  people ! 

Henry  Clay. 
2* 


34  '  SEJJEOnONS  IN  PKOSE. 


19.      THE  CONSEQUENCES  OF  DISUNION. 

South  Carolina  must  perceive  the  embarrassments  of  lief 
situation.  She  must  be  desirous — ^it  is  unnatural  to  suppose 
that  she  is  not — to  remain  in  the  Union. 

What !  a  state  whose  heroes  in  its  gallant  ancestry  fought  so 
many  glorious  battles  along  with  those  of  the  other  states  of  this 
Union — a  state  with  which  this  confederacy  is  linked  by  bonds 
of  such  a  powerful  character ! 

I  have  sometimes  fancied  what  would  be  her  condition  if  she 
goes  out  of  this  Union !  if  her  five  hundred  thousand  people 
should  at  once  be  thrown  upon  their  own  resources.  She  is  out 
of  the  Union.  What  is  the  consequence  ?  She  is  an  indepen- 
dent power.  What  then  does  she  do  ?  She  must  have  armies 
and  fleets,  and  an  expensive  government — have  foreign  missions 
— she  must  raise  taxes — enact  this  very  tariff^,  which  had  driven 
her  out  of  the  Union,  in  order  to  enable  her  to  raise  money,  and 
to  sustain  the  attitude  of  an  independent  power.  If  she  should 
have  no  force,  no  navy  to  protect  her,  she  would  be  exposed  to 
piratical  incursions.  Her  neighbor,  St.  Domingo,  might  pom- 
down  a  horde  of  pirates  on  her  borders,  and  desolate  her  plant- 
ations. She  must  have  her  embassies,  therefore  must  she  have 
a  revenue. 

But  I  will  not  dwell  on  this  topic  any  longer.  I  say  it  is  ut- 
terly impossible  that  South  Carohna  ever  desired,  for  a  moment, 
to  become  a  separate  and  independent  state.  I  would  repeat 
that,  under  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  the  condition  of 
South  Carohna  is  only  one  of  the  elements  of  a  combination,  the 
whole  of  which  together,  constitutes  a  motive  of  action  which 
renders  it  expedient  to  resort,  during  the  present  session  of  Con- 
gress, to  some  measure,  in  order  to  quiet  and  tranquillize  the 
country. 

If  there  be  any  who  want  civil  war — who  want  to  see  the 
blood  of  any  portion  of  our  countrymen  spilt,  I  am  not  one  of 
them :  I  wish  to  see  war  of  no  kind ;  but,  above  all,  do  I  not 
desire  to  see  a  civil  war.  When  war  begins,  whether  civil  or 
foreign,  no  human  foresight  is  competent  to  foresee  when,  or 
how,  or  where  it  is  to  terminate.  But  when  a  civil  war  shall 
be  lighted  up  in  the  bosom  of  our  own  happy  land,  and  armies 
are  marching,  and  commanders  are  winning  their  victories,  and 
fleets  are  in  motion  on  our  coast, — tell  me,  if  you  can,  tell  me  if 
any  human  being  can  tell,  its  duration  ?  God  alone  knows 
wliere  such  a  war  will  end.  Hknry  Cla^ 


HENKY  CLAY. JOHN  C.  CALHOUN.  85 


20.     THE  UNION. 

I  DO  not  desire  to  see  the  lustre  of  one  single  star  dimmed,  of 
that  glorious  confederacy  which  constitutes  our  political  sun ; 
still  less  do  I  wish  to  see  it  blotted  out,  and  its  light  obhterated 
forever.  Has  not  the  state  of  South  Carolina  been  one  of  the 
members  of  this  Union  in  "  days  that  tried  men's  souls  ?'*  Have 
not  her  ancestors  fought  alongside  our  ancestors  ?  Have  we 
not,  conjointly,  won  together  many  a  glorious  battle  ?  If  we 
had  to  go  into  a  civil  war  with  such  a  state,  how  would  it  ter- 
minate ?  Whenever  it  should  have  terminated,  what  would  be 
her  condition  ?  If  she  should  ever  return  to  the  Union,  what 
would  be  the  condition  of  her  feelings  and  affections  ?  what  the 
state  of  the  heart  of  her  people  ?  She  has  been  with  us  before, 
when  our  ancestors  mingled  in  the  throng  of  battle ;  and  as  I 
hope  our  posterity  will  mingle  with  hers,  for  ages  and  centuries 
to  come,  in  the  united  defence  of  hberty,  and  for  the  honor  and 
glory  of  the  Union,  I  do  not  wish  to  see  her  degraded  or  de- 
faced as  a  member  of  this  confederacy. 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  entreat  and  implore  each  individual 
member  of  this  body  to  bring  into  the  consideration  of  .this 
measure,  which  I  have  had  the  honor  of  proposing,  the  same 
love  of  country,  which,  if  I  know  myself,  has  actuated  me,  and 
the  same  desire  of  restoring  harmony  to  the  Union,  which  has 
prompted  this  effort.  If  we  can  forget  for  a  moment — but  that 
would  be  asking  too  much  of  human  nature — if  we  could  sup- 
press, for  one  moment,  party  feelings  and  party  causes — and, 
as  I  stand  here  before  my  God,  I  declare  I  have  looked  beyond 
these  considerations,  and  regarded  only  the  vast  interests  of  this 
united  people — I  should  hope,  that  under  such  feelings,  and 
with  such  dispositions,  we  may  advantageously  proceed  to  the 
consideration  of  this  bill,  and  heal,  before  they  are  yet  bleeding, 
the  wounds  of  our  distracted  country.  Heney  Clay 


21.      TAXATION  FOR  WAR. 

If  taxes  should  become  necessary,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
the  people  will  pay  cheerfully.  It  is  for  their  government  and 
their  cause,"  and  would  be  their  interest  and  duty  to  pay.  But 
\t  may  be,  and,  I  believe,  was  said,  that  the  nation  will  not  pay 


Sd  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

taxes,  because  the  rights  violated  are  not  worth  defending ;  (» 
that  the  defence  will  cost  more  than  the  profit. 

Sir,  I  here  enter  my  solemn  protest  against  this  low  and 
"  calculating  avarice"  entering  this  hall  of  legislation.  It  is 
only  fit  for  shops  and  counting-houses,  and  ought  not  to  disgrace 
the  seat  of  sovereignty  by  its  squalid  and  vile  appearance. 
Whenever  it  touches  sovereign  power,  the  nation  is  ruined.  It 
is  too  short-sighted  to  defend  itself.  It  is  an  unpromising  spirit, 
always  ready  to  yield  a  part  to  save  the  balance.  It  is  too 
timid  to  have  in  itself  the  laws  of  self-preservation.  It  is  never 
safe  but  under  the  shield  of  honor.  Sir,  I  only  kiiDw  of  tne 
principle  to  make  a  nation  great,  to  produce  in  this  country  not 
the  form  but  real  spirit  of  union,  and  that  is,  to  protect  every 
citizen  in  the  lawful  pursuit  of  his  business.  He  will  then  feel 
that  he  is  backed  by  the  government ;  that  its  arm  is  his  arms, 
and  will  rejoice  in  its  increased  strength  and  prosperity.  Pro- 
tection and  patriotism  are  reciprocal.  This  is  the  road  that  all 
great  nations  have  trod.  Sir,  I  am  not  versed  in  this  calculating 
policy,  and  will  not,  therefore,  pretend  to  estimate  in  dollars 
and  cents  the  value  of  national  independence  or  national  affec- 
tion. I  cannot  dare  to  measure  in  shillings  and  pence  the 
misery,  the  stripes,  and  the  slavery  of  our  impressed  seamen ; 
nor  even  to  value  our  shipping,  commercial,  and  agricultural 
losses  under  the  orders  in  council  and  the  British  system  of 
blockade.  I  hope  I  have  not  condemned  any  prudent  estimate 
of  the  means  of  a  country,  before  it  enters  on. a  war.  This  i? 
wisdom  ;  the  other,  folly.  j^^^  C  Calhoun. 


22.      STATE    RIGHTS. 

This  bill  proceeds  on  the  ground  that  the  entire  sovereignty 
of  this  country  belongs  to  the  American  people,  as  forming  one 
great  community,  and  regards  the  states  as  mere  fractions  or 
counties,  and  not  as  an  integral  part  of  the  Union. 

It  has  been  said  that  it  declares  war  against  South  Carolina. 
Ko !  It  decrees  a  massacre  of  her  citizens !  War  has  some- 
thing ennobling  about  it,  and,  with  all  its  horrors,  brings  into 
action  the  highest  qualities,  intellectual  and  moral.  It  was, 
perhaps,  in  the  order  of  Providence,  that  it  should  be  permitted 
for  that  very  purpose.  But  this  bill  declares  no  war,  except, 
udeed,  it  be  that  which  savages  wage  ;  a  war,  not  against  th(i» 


JOHN  C.  CALHOUN. DANIEL  WEBSTER.  87 

community,  but  the  citizens  of  wliom  that  community  is  com- 
posed. But  I  regard  it  as  worse  than  savage  warfare — as  an 
attempt  to  take  away  hfe,  under  the  color  of  law,  without  the 
trial  by  jury,  or  any  other  safeguard  which  the  constitution  has 
thrown  around  the  life  of  the  citizen  !  It  authorizes  the  Presi- 
dent, or  even  his  deputies,  when  they  may  suppose  the  law  to 
be  violated,  without  the  intervention  of  a  court  or  jmy,  to  kill 
without  mercy  or  discrimination. 

It  has  been  said  by  the  senator  from  Tennessee  to  be  a 
measure  of  peace !  Yes,  such  peace  as  the  wolf  gives  to  the 
lamb — the  kite  to  the  dove !  Such  peace  as  Russia  gives  to 
Poland,  or  death  to  its  victim !  A  peace  by  extinguishing  the 
political  existence  of  the  state,  by  aw*ng  her  into  an  abandon- 
ment of  the  exercise  of  every  power  which  constitutes  her  a 
sovereign  community !  It  is  to  South  Carolina  a  question  of 
self-preservation ;  and  I  proclaim  it,  that,  should  this  bill  pass, 
and  an  attempt  be  made  to  enforce  it,  it  will  be  resisted,  at 
every  hazard — even  that  of  death  itself  !  Death  is  not  the 
greatest  calamity ;  there  are  others,  still  more  terrible  to  the 
free  and  brave,  and  among  them  may  be  placed  the  loss  of 
liberty  and  honor.  There  are  thousands  of  her  brave  sons 
who,  if  need  be,  are  prepared  cheerfully  to  lay  down  their 
lives  in  defence  of  the  state,  and  the  great  principles  of  consti- 
tutional liberty  for  which  she  is  contending.  God  forbid  that 
this  should  become  necessary !  It  never  can  be,  unless  this 
government  is  resolved  to  bring  the  question  to  extremity  ; 
when  her  gallant  sons  will  stand  prepared  to  perform  the  last 
duty-to  die  nobly  !  j^^^^  C.  Calhoun. 


23.   EULOGY  UPON  JOHN  C.  CALHOUN. 

Sir,  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Calhoun,  or  the  manner  of  his 
exhibition  of  his  sentiments  in  public  bodies,  was  part  of  his 
intellectual  character.  It  grew  out  of  the  quahties  of  his  mind. 
It  was  plain,  strong,  terse,  condensed,  concise ;  sometimes  im- 
passioned— still,  always  severe.  Rejecting  ornament,  not  often 
seeking  far  for  illustration,  his  power  consisted  in  the  plainness 
of  his  propositions,  in  the  closeness  of  his  logic,  and  in  the 
earnestness  and  energy  of  his  manner.  These  are  the  qualities, 
as  I  think,  which  have  enabled  him  through  such  a  long  course 
of  years  to  speak  often,  and  yet  always  command  attention. 


38  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

His  demeanor  as  a  senator  is  known  to  us  all — is  appreciatcdj 
venerated  by  us  all.  No  man  was  more  respectful  to  others ; 
no  man  carried  himself  with  greater  decorum,  no  man  with 
superior  dignity.  I  thmk  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  felt  when 
he  last  addressed  us  from  his  seat  in  the  Senate — his  form  still 
erect,  with  a  voice  by  no  means  indicating  such  a  degree  of 
physical  weakness  as  did,  in  fact,  possess  him,  with  clear  tones, 
and  an  impressive,  and,  I  may  say,  an  imposing  manner, — who 
did  not  feel  that  he  might  imagine  that  he  »aw  before  us  a 
senator  of  Rome,  when  Rome  survived. 

/  Mr.  President,  he  had  the  basis,  the  indispensable  basis,  of 
all  high  character;  and  that  was,  unspotted  integrity — unim- 
peached  honor  and  character.  If  he  had  aspirations,  they  were 
high,  and  honorable,  and  noble.  There  was  nothing  grovelling, 
or  low,  or  meanly  selfish,  that  came  near  the  head  or  the  heart 
of  Mr.  Calhoun.  Firm  in  his  purpose,  perfectly  patriotic  and 
honest,  as  I  am  sure  he  was,  in  the  principles  that  he  espoused, 
and  in  the  measures  that  he  defended,  aside  from  that  large 
regard  for  that  species  of  distinction  that  conducted  him  to 
eminent  stations  for  the  benefit  of  the  republic,  I  do  not  believe 
he  had  a  selfish  motive,  or  selfish  feeling. 

However,  sir,  he  may  have  differed  from  others  of  us  in  his 
political  opinions,  or  his  political  principles,  those  principles  and 
those  opinions  will  now  descend  to  posterity  under  the  sanction 
of  a  great  name.  He  has  lived  long  enough,  he  has  done 
enough,  and  he  has  done  it  so  well,  so  successfully,  so  honor- 
ably, as  to  connect  himself  for  all  time  with  the  records  of  his 
country.  He  is  now  an  historical  character.  Those  of  us  who 
have  known  him  here,  will  find  that  he  has  left  upon  our  minds 
and  our  hearts  a  strong  and  lasting  impression  of  his  person, 
his  character,  and  his  public  performances,  which,  while  we 
live,  will  never  be  obliterated.  We  shall  hereafter,  I  am  sure, 
indulg3  in  it  as  a  gratefus.  recollection  that  we  have  lived  in  his 
age,  that  we  have  been  his  contemporaries,  that  we  have  seen 
him,  and  heard  him,  and  known  him.  We  shall  delight  to  speak 
of  him  to  those  who  are  rising  up  to  fill  our  places.  And, 
when  the  time  shall  come  when  we  ourselves  shall  go,  one  after 
another,  in  succession,  to  our  graves,  we  shall  carry  with  us  a 
deep  sense  of  his  genius  and  character,  his  honor  and  integrity, 
his  amiable  deportment  in  private  life,  and  the  purity  of  his 
exalted  patriotism.  '  ^^^^^^  ^^_^^^^_ 


DANIEL  WEB8TEK.  30 


24.      FREE  DISCUSSION. 


Important  as  I  deem  it  to  discuss,  on  all  projer  occasions, 
the  policy  of  the  measures  at  present  pursued,  it  is  still  more 
important  to  maintain  the  right  of  such  discussion  in  its  full  and 
just  extent.  Sentiments  lately  sprung  up,  and  now  growing 
fashionable,  make  it  necessary  to  be  exphcit  on  this  point.  The 
more  I  perceive  a  disposition  to  check  the  freedom  of  inquiry  by 
extravagant  and  unconstitutional  pretences,  the  firmer  shall  be 
the  tone  in  which  I  shall  assert,  and  the  freer  the  manner  in 
which  I  shall  exercise  it. 

It  is  the  ancient  and  undoubted  prerogative  of  this  people  to 
canvass  public  measures,  and  the  merits  of  public  men.  It  is  a 
"home-bred  right,"  a  fireside  privilege.  It  hath  ever  been 
enjoyed  in  every  house,  cottage,  and  cabin  in  the  nation.  It  is 
not  to  be  drawn  into '  controversy.  It  is  as  undoubted  as  the 
right  of  breathing  the  air,  or  walking  on  the  earth.  Belonging 
to  private  life  as  a  right,  it  belongs  to  public  life  as  a  duty ; 
and  it  is  the  last  duty  which  those,  whose  representative  I  am, 
shall  find  me  to  abandon.  Aiming  at  all  times  to  be  courteous 
and  temperate  in  its  use,  except  when  the  right  itself  shall  be 
questioned,  I  shall  then  carry  it  to  its  extent.  I  shall  place 
myself  on  the  extreme  boundary  of  my  right,  and  bid  defiance 
to  any  arm  that  would  move  me  from  my  ground. 

This  high,  constitutional  privilege  I  shall  defend  and  exercise 
within  this  house,  and  without  this  house,  and  in  all  places ;  in 
time  of  peace,  and  in  all  times.  Living,  I  shall  assert  it ;  and, 
ohould  I  leave  no  other  inheritance  to  my  children,  by  the  bless- 
ing of  God  I  will  leave  them  the  inheritance  of  free  principles, 
and  the  example  of  a  manly,  independent,  and  constitutional  de- 
fence of  them.  j)^^^^^  Webstee. 


25.      AMERICAN  INSTITUTIONS. 

Who  is  there  among  us,  that,  should  he  find  himself  on  any 
spot  of  the  earth  where  human  beings  exist,  and  where  the  ex- 
isteace  of  other  nations  is  known,  would  not  be  proud  to  say,  I 
am  ati  American  ?  I  am  a  countryman  of  Washington  ?  I  am 
a  citiajen  of  that  republic  which,  although  it  has  suddenly  sprung 
up,  yet  there  are  none  on  the  globe  who  have  ears  to  hear,  and 
have  not  heard  of  it — who  have  eyes  to  see,  and  have  not  read 


10  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE.  • 

of  it — who  know  any  thing,  and  yet  do  not  know  of  its  existence 
and  its  glory  ?  And,  gentlemen,  let  me  now  reverse  the  pic- 
ture. Let  me  ask,  who  there  is  among  us,  if  he  were  to  be 
found  to-morrow  in  one  of  the  civilized  countries  of  Europe,  and 
were  there  to  learn  that  this  goodly  form  of  government  had 
been  overthrown — that  the  United  States  were  no  longer  united 
—who  is  there  whose  heart  would  not  sink  within  him  ?  Who 
is  there  who  would  not  cover  his  face  for  very  shame  ? 

At  this  very  moment,  gentlemen,  our  country  is  a  general 
refuge  for  the  distressed  and  the  persecuted  of  other  nations. 
Whoever  is  in  affliction  from  political  occurrences  in  his  own 
country,  looks  here  for  shelter.  Whether  he  be  repubhcan,  fly- 
ing from  the  oppression  of  thrones — or  whether  he  be  monarch 
or  monarchist,  flying  from  thrones  that  crumble  and  fall  under 
or  around  him — he  feels  equal  assurance  that,  :f  he  get  foothold 
on  our  soil,  his  person  is  safe,  and  his  rights  will  be  respected. 

We  have  tried  these  popular  institutions  in  times  of  great  ex- 
citement and  commotion;  and  they  have  stood  substantially 
firm  and  steady,  while  the  fountains  of  the  great  political  deep 
have  been  elsewhere  broken  up ;  while  thrones,  resting  on  ages 
of  prescription,  have  tottered  and  fallen ;  and  while,  in  other 
countries,  the  earthquake  of  unrestrained  popular  commotion  has 
swallowed  up  all  law,  and  all  liberty,  and  all  right  together. 
Our  government  has  been  tried  in  peace,  and  it  has  been  tried 
in  war ;  and  has  proved  itself  fit  for  both.  It  has  been  assailed 
from  without,  and  it  has  successfully  resisted  the  shock  ;  it  has 
been  disturbed  within,  and  it  has  effectually  quieted  the  disturb- 
ance. It  can  stand  trial — it  can  stand  assault — it  can  stand 
adversity — it  can  stand  every  thing  but  the  marring  of  its  own 
beauty,  and  the  weakening  of  its  own  strength.  It  can  stand 
ever}  thing  but  the  effects  of  our  own  rashness  and  our  own 
folly.  It  can  stand  every  thing  but  disorganization,  disunion, 
and  nullification.  D^^^^^  Webster. 


26.      AMERICA. 


It  cannot  be  denied,  that  with  America,  and  in  America,  a 
new  era  commences  in  human  affairs.  This  era  is  distinguished 
by  free  representative  governments,  by  entire  religious  liberty, 
by  improved  systems  of  national  intercourse,  by  a  newly 
awakened  and  an  unconquerable  spirit  of  free  inquiry,  gjid  by  a 


DANIEL  WEBSTKB.  41 

diffusion  of  knowledge  througli  the  community,  such  as  has 
been  before  altogether  unknown  and  unlieard  of.  America, 
America,  our  country,  fellow- citizens,  our  own  dear  and  native 
land,  is  inseparably  connected,  fast  bound  up,  in  fortune,  and  by 
fate,  with  these  great  interests.  If  they  fall,  we  fall  with  them ; 
if  they  stand,  it  will  be  because  we  have  upholden  them.  Let 
us  contemplate,  then,  this  connection,  which  binds  the  pros- 
perity of  others  to  our  own ;  and  let  us  manfully  discharge  all 
the  duties  which  it  imposes.  If  we  cherish  the  virtues  and  the 
principles  of  our  fathers.  Heaven  will  assist  us  to  carry  on  the 
work  of  human  liberty  and  human  happiness.  Auspicious 
omens  cheer  us.  Great  examples  are  before  us.  Our  own 
firmament  now  shines  brightly  upon  our  path.  Washington  is 
in  the  clear  upper  sky.  Other  stars  have  now  joined  the  Amer- 
ican constellation ;  they  circle  round  their  centre,  and  the  heav- 
ens beam  with  new  light.  Beneath  this  illumination  let  us  walk 
the  course  of  life,  and  at  its  close  devoutly  commend  our  be- 
loved country,  the  common  parent  of  us  all,  to  the  Divine  be- 

^^S^^^y-  Daniel  Webstee. 


27.      THE  murderer's  SECRET. 
(These  parts  may  be  spoken  together,  or  separately.) 

The  deed  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-possession  and 
steadiness,  equal  to  the  wickedness  with  which  it  was  planned. 
The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence,  spread  out  the 
whole  scene  before  us.  Deep  sleep  had  fallen  on  the  destined 
victim,  and  on  all  beneath  his  roof.  A  healthful  old  man,  to 
whom  sleep  was  sweet,  the  first  sound  slumbers  of  the  night 
held  him  in  their  soft  but  strong  embrace.  The  assassin  enters, 
through  the  window  already  prepared,  into  an  unoccupied 
apartment.  With  noiseless  foot  he  paces  the  lonely  hall,  half 
lighted  by  the  moon  ;  he  winds  up  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and 
reaches  the  door  of  the  chamber.  Of  this  he  moves  the  lock, 
by  soft  and  continued  pressure,  till  it  turns  on  its  hinges  without 
noise  ;  and  he  enters,  and  beholds  his  victim  before  him.  The 
room  was  uncommonly  open  to  the  admission  of  light.  The 
face  of  the  innocent  sleeper  was  turned  from  the  murderer,  and 
the  beams  of  the  moon,  resting  on  the  gray  locks  of  his  aged 
temple,  showed  him  where  to  strike.  The  fatal  blow  is  given  ! 
and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  struggle  or  a  motion,  froiu  ihe 


42  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of  death  !  It  is  the  assassin's  pur 
pose  to  make  sure  work ;  and  he  yet  piles  the  dagger,  though 
it  was  obvious  that  life  had  been  destroyed  by  the  blow  of  the 
bludgeon.  *  He  even  raises  the  aged  arm,  that  he  may  not  fail 
in  his  aim  at  the  heart,  and  replaces  it  again  over  the  wounds 
of  the  poniard !  To  finish  the  picture,  he  explores  the  wrist 
for  the  pulse  !  He  feels  for  it,  and  ascertains  that  it  beats  no 
longer !  It  is  accomplished.  The  deed  is  done.  He  retreats, 
retraces  his  steps  to  the  window,  passes  out  through  it  as  he 
came  in,  and  escapes.  He  has  done  the  murder — no  eye  has 
seen  him,  no  ear  has  heard  him.  The  secret  is  his  own,  and  it 
is  safe ! 

Ah  !  gentlemen,  that  was  a  dreadful  mistake.  Such  a  secret 
can  be  safe  nowhere.  The  whole  creation  of  God  has  neither 
nook  nor  corner,  where  the  guilty  can  bestow  it,  and  say  it  is 
safe.  Not  to  speak  of  that  eye  which  glances  through  all  dis- 
guises, and  beholds  every  thing,  as  in  the  splendor  of  noon — 
such  secrets  of  guilt  are  never  safe  from  detection,  even  by 

Daniel  Webster. 


28.     THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

True  it  is,  generally  speaking,  that  "  murder  will  out."  True 
it  is,  that  Providence  hath  so  ordained,  and  doth  so  govern 
things,  that  those  who  break  the  great  law  of  heaven,  by  shed- 
ding man's  blood,  seldom  succeed  in  avoiding  discovery  :  espe- 
cially, in  a  case  exciting  so  much  attention  as  this,  discovery 
must  and  will  come,  sooner  or  later.  A  thousand  eyes  turn  at 
once  to  explore  every  man,  every  thing,  every  circumstance, 
connected  with  the  time  and  place  :  a  thousand  ears  catch  every 
whisper :  a  thousand  excited  minds  intensely  dwell  on  the 
scene  ;  shedding  all  their  light,  and  ready  to  kindle  the  slight- 
est circumstance  into  a  blaze  of  discovery.  Meantime,  the 
guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its  own  secret. 

It  is  false  to  itself ;  or  rather  it  feels  an  irresistible  impulse  of 
conscience  to  be  true  to  itself :  it  labors  under  its  guilty  pos- 
session, and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.  The  human  heart 
was  not  made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant :  it  finds 
itself  preyed  on  by  a  torment,  which  it  dares  not  acknowledge 
to  God  or  man.  A  vulture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  asks  no  sym- 
pathy or  assistance,  either  from  heaven  or  earth.  The  secret 
which  the  murderer  possesses,  soon  comes  to  possess  him ;  and. 


DJLNIEL  WEBSTER.  43 

like  the  evil  spirits  of  which  we  read,  it  overcomes  him,  and 
leads  him  whithersoever  it  will.  He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart, 
rising  to  his  throat,  and  demanding  disclosure.  He  thinks  the 
whole  world  sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in  his  eyes,  and  almost 
hears  its  workings  in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.  It  has 
become  his  master.  It  betrays  his  discretion :  it  breaks  down 
his  courage  :  it  conquers  his  prudence.  When  suspicions,  from 
without,  begin  to  embarrass  him,  and  the  net  of  circumstances 
to  entangle  him,  the  fatal  secret  struggles  with  still  greater  vio- 
lence to  burst  forth.  It  must  be  confessed  :  it  will  be  confessed  : 
there  is  no  refuge  from  confession  but  suicide;  and  suicide  is 

^^^f^^^^^°-  Daniel  Websti^e. 


29.   SUPPOSED  SPEECH  OF  ADAMS  FOR  THE  DECLARATION. 

Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my  hand 
and  my  heart  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in  the 
beginning,  Ave  aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there's  a  Divinity 
which  shapes  our  ends.  The  injustice  of  England  has  driven 
us  to  arms  ;  and,  Winded  to  her  own  interest,  for  our  good,  she 
has  obstinately  persisted,  till  independence  is  now  within  our 
grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach  forth  to  it,  and  it  is  ours.  Why, 
then,  should  we  defer  the  declaration  ?  Is  any  man  so  weak 
as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation  with  England,  which  shall 
leave  either  safety  to  the  country  and  its  liberties,  or  safety  to 
his  own  life  and  his  own  honor  ?  Are  not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in 
that  chair ;  is  not  he,  our  venerable  colleague  near  you  ;  are  you 
not  both,  already,  the  proscribed  and  predestined  objects  of 
punishment  and  of  vengeance  ?  Cut  off  from  all  hope  of 
royal  clemency,  Avhat  are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while  the 
power  of  England  remains,  but  outlaws  ?  If  we  postpone 
independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on  or  to  give  up  the  war  ? 
Do  Ave  mean  to  submit  to  the  measures  of  parliament,  Boston 
port-bill,  and  all  ?  Do  we  mean  to  submit,  and  consent  that 
we  ourselves  shall  be  ground  to  powder,  and  our  country  and 
its  rights  trodden  down  in  the  dust  ?  I  knoAV  Ave  do  not  mean 
to  submit.  We  never  shall  submit.  Do  Ave  intend  to  violate 
that  most  solemn  obligation  eA'er  entered  into  by  men,  that 
plighting,  before  God,  of  our  sacred  honor  to  Washington, 
when,  putting  him  forth  to  incur  the  dangers  of  war,  as  well 
fts  the  political  hazards  of  the  times,  we  promised  to  adhere  to 


44:  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

him,  in  every  extremity,  with  our  fortunes  and  our  lives  ?  1 
know  there  is  not  a  man  here,  who  would  not  rather  see  a 
general  conflagration  sweep  over  the  land,  or  an  earthquake  sink 
it,  than  one  jot  or  tittle  of  that  plighted  faith  to  fall  to  the 
ground.  For  myself,  having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place, 
moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be  appointed  commander 
of  the  forces,  raised,  or  to  be  raised,  for  defence  of  American 
liberty,  may' my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,  and  my  tongue 
cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  waver  in  the 
support  I  give  him.  The  war,  then,  must  go  on.  We  must 
fight  it  through.  And,  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off 
longer  the  declaration  of  independence  ?  That  measure  will 
strengthen  us.  If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we 
shall  not  fail.  The  cause  will  raise  up  armies  ;  the  cause  will 
create  navies.  The  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry 
us,  and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through  this  struggle. 

Daniel  Webster. 


30.      THE  SAME. PART    SECOND. 

Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased 
courage.  Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  restoration  of 
privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered  immunities, 
held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the  glorious  object 
of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe  into  them  anew  the 
breath  of  life.  Read  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army : 
every  sword  will  be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and  the  solemn 
vow  uttered,  to  maintain  it  or  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honor. 
Publish  it  from  the  pulpit :  religion  will  approve  it,  and  the  love 
of  religious  liberty  will  cling  around  it,  resolved  to  stand  with 
it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  public  halls  ;  proclaim  it 
there  :  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar  of  the  enemy's 
cannon :  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their  brothers  and  their  sons 
fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  in  the  streets  of  Lexington 
and  Concord, — and  the  very  walls  will  cry  out  in  its  support. 

Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs ;  but  I  see 
clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  indeed,  may 
rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time  when  this  declaration  shall 
be  made  good.  We  may  die — die,  colonists  ;  die,  slaves ;  die, 
it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on  the  scaffold.  Be  it  so.  If  it 
be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven  that  my  country  shall  require  the 


DA^^IEL  ^VEBSTKK.  45 

poor  oflfering  of   my  life,  the  victim  shall   be   ready,  at  the 
appointed  hour  of  sacrifice — come  when  that  hour  may. 

But,  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured  that  this  declara- 
tion will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it  may  cost  blood  ; 
but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate  for  both. 
Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  I  see  the  brightness  of 
the  future  as  the  sun  in  heaven.  We  shall  make  this  a  glorious, 
an  immortal  day.  When  we  are  in  our  graves,  our  children  will 
honor  it.  They  will  celebrate  it  with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity, 
with  bonfires,  and  illuminations.  On  its  annual  return,  they  will 
shed  tears,  copious,  gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery, 
not  of  agony  and  distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and 
of  joy.  Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My 
judgment  approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it. 
All  that  I  am,  all  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  hope  for,  in  this 
life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it.  Sink  or  swim,  hve 
or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the  declaration :  it  is  my 
living  sentiment ;  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall  be  my 
dying  sentiment :  independence  now,  an^  independence  forever  ! 

Daniel  Webster. 


31.      ENCROACHMENTS  ON  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

Whether  the  consequences  be  prejudicial  or  not,  if  there  be 
dn  illegal  exercise  of  power,  it  is  to  be  resisted  in  the  proper 
manner.  Even  if  no  harm  or  inconvenience  result  from  trans- 
gressing the  boundary,  the  intrusion  is  not  to  be  suffered  to  pass 
unnoticed.  Every  encroachment,  great  or  small,  is  important 
enough  to  awaken  the  attention  of  those  who  are  intrusted  with 
the  preservation  of  a  constitutional  government.  We  are  not  to 
wait  till  great  public  mischiefs  come,  till  the  government  is 
overthrown,  or  liberty  itself,  put  in  extreme  jeopardy.  We 
should  not  be  worthy  sons  of  our  fathers,  were  we  so  to  regard 
great  questions  affecting  the  general  freedom.  Those  fathers 
accomplished  the  revolution  on  a  strict  question  of  principle. 
The  parhament  of  Great  Britain  asserted  a  right  to  tax  the 
colonies  in  all  cases  whatsoever,  and  it  was  precisely  on  this 
question  that  they  made  the  revolution  turn.  The  amount  of 
taxation  was  trifling,  but  the  claim  itself  was  inconsistent  with 
liberty ;  and  that  was,  in  their  eyes,  enough.  It  was  against 
the  recital  of  an  act  of  parliament,  rather  than  against  any 
suflfering  under  its  enactments  that  they  took  up  arms.     They 


«r  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

went  to  war  against  a  preamble.  They  fought  seven  years 
against  a  declaration.  They  poured  out  their  treasures  and  their 
blood  like  water,  in  a  contest,  in  opposition  to  an  assertion, 
which  those  less  sagacious  and  not  so  well  schooled  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  civil  liberty  would  have  regarded  as  barren  phraseology, 
or  mere  parade  of  words.  They  saw  in  the  claim  of  the  British 
parliament  a  seminal  principle  of  mischief,  the  germ  of  unjust 
power ;  they  detected  it,  dragged  it  forth  from  underneath  its 
plausible  disguises,  struck  at  it,  nor  did  it  elude  e.ther  their 
steady  eye,  or  their  well-directed  blow,  till  they  had  extirpated 
and  destroyed  it,  to  the  smallest  fibre.  On  this  question  of 
principle,  while  actual  suffering  was  yet  afar  off,  they  raised 
their  flag  against  a  power  to  which,  for  purposes  of  foreign  con- 
quest and  subjugation,  Rome,  in  the  height  of  her  glory,  is  not 
to  be  compared ;  a  power  which  has  dotted  over  the  surface  of 
the  whole  globe  with  her  possessions  and  military  posts ;  whose 
morning  drum-beat,  following  the  sun,  and  keeping  company 
with  the  hours,  circles  the  earth  daily  with  one  continuous  and 
unbroken  strain  of  the  tiartial  airs  of  England. 

Daniel  Webstee. 


32.      THE  SENTINELS  OF  LIBERTY. 

When  the  members  of  this  house  shall  lose  the  freedom  of 
speech  and  debate  ;  when  they  shall  surrender  the  right  of 
publicly  and  freely  canvassing  all  important  measures  of  the 
executive ;  when  they  shall  not  be  allowed  to  maintain  their 
own  authority  and  their  own  privileges  by  vote,  declaration,  or 
resolution,  they  will  then  be  no  longer  free  representatives  of  a 
free  people,  but  slaves  themselves,  and  fit  instruments  to  make 
slaves  of  others. 

Sir,  if  the  people  have  a  right  to  discuss  the  official  conduct 
of  the  executive,  so  have  their  representatives. ,  We  have  been 
taught  to  regard  a  representative  of  the  people  as  a  sentinel  on 
the  watch-tower  of  liberty.  Is  he  to  be  blind,  though  visible 
danger  approaches  ?  Is  he  to  be  deaf,  though  sounds  of  peril 
fill  the  air  ?  Is  he  to  be  dumb,  while  a  thousand  duties  impel 
him  to  raise  the  cry  of  alarm  ?  Is  he  not,  rather,  to  catch  the 
lowest  whisper  which  breathes  intention  or  purpose  of 
encroachment  on  the  public  liberties,  and  to  give  his  voice 
breath  and  utterance  at  the  first  appearance  of  danger  ?  Is 
not  his  eye  to  traverse  the  whole  horizon,  with  the  keen  and 


DANIEL   AVEBSTER.  4:7 

eager  vision  of  an  unhooded  hawk,  detecting,  through  all 
disgiiibes,  every  enemy  advancing,  in  any  form,  towards  the 
citadel  which  he  guards  ?  Sir,  this  watchfulness  for  public 
liberty,  this  duty  of  foreseeing  danger  and  proclaiming  it,  this 
promptitude  and  boldness  in  resisting  attacks  on  the  constitution 
from  any  quarter,  this  defence  of  established  landmarks,  this 
fearless  resistance  of  whatever  would  transcend  or  remove  them, 
all  belong  to  the  representative  character,  are  interwoven  with 
its  very  nature,  and  of  which  it  cannot  be  deprived,  without 
converting  an  active,  intelligent,  faithful  agent  of  the  people 
into  an  unresisting  and  passive  instrument  of  power.  A  repre- 
sentative body  which  gives  up  these  rights  and  duties,  gives 
itself  up.  It  is  a  representative  body  no  longer.  It  has  broken 
the  tie  between  itself  and  its  constituents,  and  henceforth  is  fit 
only  to  be  regarded  as  an  inert,  self-sacrificed  mass,  from  which 
all  ap'')ropriate  principle  of  vitality  has  departed  forever. 

Daniel  Webster. 


'3'3.      BUNKER-HILL  MONUMENT. 

The  Bunker-Hill  monument  is  finished.  Here  it  stands 
Fortunate  in  the  natural  eminence  on  which  it  is  placed, — higher, 
infinitely  higher,  in  its  objects  and,  purpose,  it  rises  over  the 
land,  and  over  the  sea ;  and  visible,  at  their  homes,  to  three 
hundred  thousand  citizens  of  Massachusetts, — it  stands,  a 
memorial  of  the  last,  and  a  monitor  to  the  present,  and  all 
succeeding  generations.  I  have  spoken  of  the  loftiness  of  its 
purpose.  If  it  had  been  without  any  other  design  than  the 
creation  of  a  work  of  art,  the  granite  of  which  it  is  composed 
would  have  slept  in  its  native  bed.  It  has  a  purpose ;  and  that 
purpose  gives  it  character.  That  purpose  enrobes  it  with  dignity 
and  moral  grandeur.  That  well-known  purpose  it  is  which 
causes  us  to  look  up  to  it  with  a  feeling  of  awe.  It  is  itself  the 
orator  of  this  occasion.  It  is  not  from  my  lips,  it  is  not  from 
any  human  lips,  that- that  strain  of  eloquence  is  this  day  to  flow, 
most  competent  to  move  and  excite  the  vast  multitudes  around. 
The  potent  speaker  stands  motionless  before  them.  It  is  a  plain 
shaft.  It  bears  no  inscriptions,  fronting  to  the  rising  sun,  from 
which  the  future  antiquarian  shall  wipe  the  dust.  Nor  does  the 
rising  sun  cause  tones  of  music  to'  issue  from  its  summit.  But 
at  the  rising  of  the  sim,  and  at  the  setting  of  the  sun,  in  tl^i 
blaze  of  noon-day,  and  beneath  the  milder  effulgence  of  lunar 


4:8  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

light,  it  looks,  it  speaks,  it  acts,  to  the  full  comprehension  of 
every  American  mind,  and  the  awakening  of  glowing  enthu- 
siasm in  every  American  heart.  Its  silent,  but  awful  utterance  ; 
its  deep  pathos,  as  it  brings  to  our  contemplation  the  1*7 th  of 
June,  1175,  and  the  consequences  which  have  resulted  to  us, 
to  our  country,  and  to  the  world,  from  the  events  of  that  day, 
and  which  we  know  must  continue  to  rain  influence  on  the 
destinies  of  mankind,  to  the  end  of  time;  the  elevation  with 
which  it  raises  us  high  above  the  ordinary  feelings  of  life  •  sur- 
pass all  that  the  study  of  the  closet,  or  even  the  inspiration  of 
genius,  can  produce.  To-day,  it  speaks  to  us.  Its  future 
auditories  will  be  through  successive  generations  of  men,  as  they 
rise  up  before  it,  and  gather  round  it.  Its  speech  will  be  of 
patriotism  and  courage ;  of  civil  and  religious  hberty ;  of  free 
government ;  of  the  moral  improvement  and  elevation  of  man- 
kind ;  and  of  the  immortal  memory  of  those  who,  with  heroic 
devotion,  have  sacrificed  their  lives  for  their  country. 

Daniel  "Webster. 


34.     THE  CHARACTER  OF  WASHINGTON. 

America  has  furnished  to  the  world  the  character  of  Wash- 
ington !  And  if  our  American  institutions  had  done  nothing  else, 
that  alone  would  have  entitled  them  to  the  respect  of  mankind. 

Washington  ! — "  First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the 
hearts  of  his  countrymen !" — Washington  is  all  our  own !  The 
enthusiastic  veneration  and  regard  in  which  the  people  of  the 
United  States  hold  him,  prove  them  to  be  worthy  of  such  a 
countryman;  while  his  reputation  abroad  reflects  the  highest 
honor  on  his  country  and  its  institutions.  I  would  cheerfully 
put  the  question  to-day  to  the  intelligence  of  Europe  and  the 
world,  what  character  of  the  century,  upon  the  whole,  stands  out 
in  the  relief  of  history,  most  pure,  most  respectable,  most  sub- 
lime; and  I  doubt  not,  that,  by  a  sufi'rage  approaching  to 
unanimity,  the  answer  would  be,  Washington ! 

This  structure,*  by  its  uprightness,  its  solidity,  its  durability, 
is  no  unfit  emblem  of  his  character.  His  public  virtues  and 
public  principles  were  as  firm  as  the  earth  on  which  it  stands ; 
his  personal  motives  as  pure  as  the  serene  heaven  in  which  its 
summit  is  lost.  But,  indeed,  though  a  fit,  it  is  an  inadequate 
emblem.  Towering  high  above  the  column  which  our  hands 
have  builded,  beheld,  not  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  single  city,  cr 
a  single  State,  ascends  the  colossal  grandeur  of  his  character, 
*  Bunker-Hill  Monument. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER.  49 

and  his  life.  In  all  the  constituents  of  the  one,  in  all  the  acts 
of  the  other,  in  all  its  titles  to  immortal  love,  admiration,  and 
renown,  it  is  an  American  production.  It  is  the  embodiment 
and  vindication  of  our  transatlantic  liberty.  Born  upon  our  soil, 
of  parents  also  born  upon  it,  never  for  a  moment  having  had  a 
sight  of  the  old  world,  instructed,  according  to  the  modes  of  his 
time,  only  in  the  spare,  plain,  but  wholesome  elementary  knowl- 
edge which  our  institutions  provide  for  the  children  of  the  peo- 
ple, growing  up  beneath  and  penetrated  by  the  genuine  influ- 
ences of  American  society,  growing  up  amidst  our  expanding, 
but  not  luxurious,  civilization,  partaking  in  our  great  destiny  of 
labor,  our  long  contest  with  unreclaimed  nature  and  uncivilized 
man,  our  agony  of  glory,  the  war  of  independence,  our  great 
victory  of  peace,  the  formation  of  the  Union  and  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Constitution,  he  is  all,  all  our  own !  That  crowded 
and  glorious  life, 

"Where  multitudes  of  virtues  pass  along, 
Each  pressing  foremost,  in  the  mighty  throng 
Contending  to  be  seen,  then  making  room 
For  greater  multitudes  that  were  to  come  ;"  — 

that  life  was  the  life  of  an  American  citizen. 

I  claim  him  for  America.  In  all  the  perils,  in  every  darkened 
moment  of  the  State,  in  the  midst  of  the  reproaches  of  enemies 
and  the  misgiving  of  friends,  I  turn  to  that  transcendent  name 
for  courage  and  for  consolation.  To  him  who  denies,  or  doubts, 
whether  our  fervid  liberty  can  be  combined  with  law,  with  or- 
der, with  the  security  of  property,  with  the  pursuit  and  ad- 
vancement of  happiness, — to  him  who  denies  that  our  institutions 
are  capable  of  producing  exaltation  of  soul,  and  the  passion  of 
true  glory, — to  him  who  denies  that  we  have  contributed  any 
thing  to  the  stock  of  great  lessons  and  great  examples, — to  all 
these  I  reply  by  pointing  to  Washington  ! 

Daniel  Webster. 


35.       THE  responsibility  of  AMERICANS. 

This  lovely  land,  this  glorious  liberty,  these  benign  institu- 
tions, the  dear  purchase  of  our  fathers,  are  ours ;  ours  to  enjoy, 
ours  to  preserve,  ours  to  transmit.  Generations  past,  and  gen- 
erations to  come,  hold  us  responsible  for  this  sacred  trust.  Our 
fathers,  from  behind,  admonish  us,  with  their  anxious  paternal 
voices ;  posterity  calls  out  to  us,  from  the  bosom  of  the  future  ; 
the  world  turns  hither  its  solicitous  eyes — all,  all  conjure  us  to 
act  wisely  and  faithfully  in  the  relation  which  we  sustain.  We 
can  never,  indeed,  pav  the  debt  which  is  upon  us ;  but  by  virtue, 

3 


50  SELECTIONS  IN   PROSE. 

by  morality,  by  religion,  by  the  cultivation  of  every  good  prin- 
ciple and  every  good  habit,  we  may  hope  to  enjoy  the  blessing, 
through  our  day,  and  to  leave  it  unimpaired  to  our  children. 
Let  us  feel  deeply  how  much  of  what  we  are  and  of  what  we 
possess,  we  owe  to  this  hberty,  and  these  institutions  of  govern- 
ment. Nature  has,  indeed,  given  us  a  soil  which  yields  boun- 
teously to  the  hands  of  industry ;  the  mighty  and  fruitful  ocean 
is  before  us,  and  the  skies  over  our  heads  shed  health  and  vigor. 
But  what  are  lands,  and  seas,  and  skies,  to  civilized  men,  with- 
out society,  without  knowledge,  without  morals,  without  reli- 
gious culture ;  and  how  can  these  be  enjoyed,  in  all  their  extent, 
and  all  their  excellence,  but  under  the  protection  of  wise  institu- 
tions and  a  free  government  ?  There  is  not  one  of  us,  there  is 
not  one  of  us  here  present,  who  does  not,  at  this  moment,  and 
at  every  moment,  experience  in  his  own  condition,  and  in  the 
condition  of  those  most  near  and  dear  to  him,  the  influence  and 
the  benefit  of  this  liberty,  and  these  institutions.  Let  us  then 
acknowledge  the  blessing ;  let  us  feel  it  deeply  and  powerfully ; 
let  us  cherish  a  strong  affection  for  it,  and  resolve  to  maintain 
and  perpetuate  it.  The  blood  of  our  fathers — let  it  not  have 
been  shed  in  vain ;  the  great  hope  of  posterity — let  it  not  b* 

^^^^^^^-  Daniel  VVebstee. 


36.     THE  VOYAaE  OjT  THE  MAYFLOWER. 

Methinks  I  see  it  now :  that  one  solitary,  adventurous  vessel, 
the  Mayflower  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the  prospects 
of  a  future  state,  and  bound  across  the  unknown  sea.  I  behold 
it  pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the  uncertain,  tedious 
voyage.  Suns  rise  and  set,  and  weeks  and  months  pass,  and 
winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep,  but  brings  them  not  the 
sight  of  tlie  wished-for  shore.  I  see  them  now,  scantily  sup- 
plied with  provisions,  crowded  almost  to  suffocation  in  their  ill- 
stored  prison,  delayed  by  calms,  pursuing  a  circuitous  route ; 
and  now  driven  in  fury,  before  the  raging  tempest,  on  the  high 
and  giddy  waves.  The  awful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  through 
the  rigging :  the  laboring  masts  seem  straining  from  their  base : 
the  dismal  sound  of  the  pumps  is  heard :  the  ship  leaps,  as  it 
were,  madly  from  billow  to  billow :  the  ocean  breaks  and  set- 
tles with  ingulfing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and  beats  with 
deadening,  shivering  weight,  against  the  staggered  vessel.  I 
see  them,  escaped  from  these  perils,  pursuing  their  all  but  dcs- 


EDWAED   EVERETT.  51 

perato  undertaking,  and  landed,  at  last,  after  a  five  months'  paS' 
sage,  on  the  ice-clad  rocks  of  Plymouth :  weak  and  weary  from 
the  voyage,  poorly  armed,  scantily  provisioned :  depending  on 
the  charity  of ,  their  shipmaster  for  a  draught  of  beer  on  board ; 
drinking  nothing  but  water  on  shore:  without  shelter:  with- 
out means :  surrounded  by  hostile  tribes.  '  '  ■. 
Shut  now  the  volume  of  history,'  and  tell  me,  on  any  princi- 
ple of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of  this  handful 
of  adventurers.  Tell  me,  man  of  military  science  !  in  how  many 
months  were  they  all  swept  off  by  the  thirty  savage  tribes 
enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New  England  ?  Tell  me, 
politician  !  how  long  did  the  shadow  of  a  colony,  on  which  your 
conventions  and  treaties  had  not  smiled,  languish  on  the  distant 
coast  ?  Student  of  history !  compare  for  me  the  baffled  pro- 
jects, the  deserted  settlements,  the  abandoned  adventures  of 
other  times,  and  find  the  parallel  of  this.  Was  it  the  winter's 
storm,  beating  upon  the  houseless  heads  of  women  and  children, 
was  it  hard  labor  and  spare  meals,  was  it  disease,  was  it  the 
tomahawk,  was  it  the  deep  malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined 
enterprise  and  a  broken  heart,  aching  in  its  last  moments  at  the 
recollection  of  the  loved  and  left,  beyond  the  sea, — was  it  some, 
or  all  of  these  united,  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company  to 
their  melancholy  fate  ?  And  is  it  possible  that  neither  of  these 
causes,  that  not  all  combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of 
hope  ?  is  it  possible,  that  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so 
worthy,  not  so  much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone 
forth  a  progress  so  steady,  a  growth  so  wonderful,  an  expansion 
so  ample,  a  reality  so  important,  a  promise,  yet  to  be  fulfilled, 

«^§^^"«"«-  EWAED    EVEUETT. 


31.      THE  LAND  OF  OUR  FATHERS. 
(These  parts  may  be  spoken  together,  or  separately,) 

What  American  does  not  feel  proud  that  he  is  descended 
from  the  countrymen  of  Bacon,  of  Newton,  and  of  Locke  ?  Who 
does  not  know,  that  while  every  pulse  of  civil  liberty  in  the 
heart  of  the  British  empire  beat  warm  and  full  in  the  bosom  of 
our  fathers,  the  sobriety,  the  firmness,  and  the  dignity  with 
which  the  cause  of  free  principles  struggled  into  existence  here, 
constantly  found  encouragement  and  countenance  from  the  sons 
vf  liberty  there  ?     Who  do,es  not  remember  that  when  the  Pil- 


52  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

grims  went  over  the  sea,  the  prayers  of  the  faithful  British  con- 
fessors, in  all  the  quarters  of  their  dispersion,  went  over  with 
them,  while  their  aching  eyes  were  strained,  till  the  star  of  hope 
should  go  up  in  the  western  skies  ?  And  who  will  ever  forget 
that  in  that  eventful  struggle  which  severed  this  mighty  empire 
from  the  British  crown,  there  was  not  heard,  throughout  our 
continent  in  arms,  a  voice  which  spoke  louder  for  the  rights  of 
America,  than  that  of  Burke  or  of  Chatham,  within  the  walls  of 
the  British  parliament,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  British  throne  ? 
No,  for  myself  I  can  truly  say,  that  after  my  native  land,  I  feel 
a  tenderness  and  a  reverence  for  that  of  my  fathers.  The  pride 
I  take  in  my  own  country  makes  me  respect  that  from  which 
we  are  sprung.  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^^ 


38.      THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

In  touching  the  soil  of  England,  I  seem  to  return  like  a  de- 
scendant to  the  old  family  seat ;  to  come  back  to  the  abode  of 
an  aged,  the  tomb  of  a  departed  parent.  I  acknowledge  this 
great  consanguinity  of  nations.  The  sound  of  my  native  lan- 
guage, beyond  the  sea,  is  a  music  to  my  ear  beyond  the  richest 
strains  of  Tuscan  softness,  or  Castilian  majesty.  I  am  not  yet 
in  a  land  of  strangers  while  surrounded  by  the  manners,  the 
habits,  the  forms  in  which  I  have  been  brought  up.  I  wander 
delighted  through  a  thousand  scenes,  which  the  historians,  the 
poets,  have  mads  familiar  to  us, — of  which  the  names  are  inter- 
woven with  our  earliest  associations.  I  tread  with  reverence 
the  spots  where  I  can  retrace  the  footsteps  of  our  suffering  fa- 
thers :  the  pleasant  land  of  their  birth  has  a  claim  ofi  my  heart. 
It  seems  to  me  a  classic,  yea,  a  holy  land,  rich  in  the  memories 
of  the  great  and  good ;  the  martyrs  of  Hberty,  the  exiled  her- 
alds of  truth  ;  and  richer,  as  the  parent  of  this  land  of  promise  in 
the  west. 

I  am  not,  I  need  not  say  I  am  not,  the  panegyrist  of  Eng- 
land. I  am  not  dazzled  by  her  riches,  nor  awed  by  her  .power. 
The  sceptre,  the  mitre,  and  the  coronet,  stars,  garters,  and  blue 
ribbons,  seem  to  me  poor  things  for  great  men  to  contend  for. 
Nor  is  my  admiration  awakened  by  her  armies,  mustered  for  the 
battles  of  Europe ;  her  navies,  overshadowing  the  ocean ;  nor 
her  empire,  grasping  the  furthest  East.  It  is  these,  and  the 
price  of  guilt  and  blood  by  which  they  are  maintained,  which 


EDWARD  EVEKETT.  53 

are  the  cause  why  no  friend  of  hberty  can  salute  her  with  undi- 
vided affections.  But  it  is  the  refuge  of  free  principles,  though 
often  persecuted  ;  the  school  of  religious  liberty,  the  more  pre- 
cious for  the  struggles  to  which  it  has  been  called  ;  the  tombs 
of  those  who  have  reflected  honor  on  all  who  speak  the  English 
tongue ;  it  is  the  birthplace  of  our  fathers,  the  home  of  the  Pil- 
grims ; — it  is  these  which  I  love  and  venerate  in  England.  I 
should  feel  ashamed  of  an  enthusiasm  for  Italy  and  Greece,  did 
I  not  also  feel  it  for  a  land  like  this.  In  an  American  it  would 
seem  to  me  degenerate  and  ungrateful,  to  hang  with  passion 
upon  the  traces  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  follow  without  emo- 
tion the  nearer  and  plainer  footsteps  of  Shakspeare  and  Milton  ; 
and  I  should  think  him  cold  in  his  love  for  his  native  lajid,  who 
felt  no  melting  in  his  heart  for  that  other  native  land,  which 
holds  the  ashes  of  his  forefathers.  ^^^^^  Eveeett. 


39.      THE  INFLUENCE  OF  LAFAYETTE. 

What  young  man  that  reflects  on  the  history  of  Lafayette, 
that  sees  him,  in  the  morning  of  his  days,  the  associate  of  sages, 
the  friend  of  Washington,  but  will  stai't  with  new  vigor  on  the 
path  of  duty  and  renown  ? 

And  what  was  it  which  gave  to  our  Lafayette  his  spotless 
fame  ?  The  love  of  liberty.  What  has  consecrated  his  memory 
in  the  hearts  of  good  men  ?  The  love  of  liberty.  What  nerved 
his  youthful  arm  with  strength,  and  inspired  him,  in  the  morn- 
ing of  his  days,  with  sagacity  and  counsel  ?  The  living  love  of 
liberty.  To  what  did  he  sacrifice  power,  and  rank,  and  country, 
and  freedom  itself?  To  the  horror  of  licentiousness;  to  the 
sanctity  of  plighted  faith  ;  to  the  love  of  liberty  protected  by  law. 
Thus  the  great  principle  of  your  revolutionary  fathers,  of  your 
pilgrim  sires,  the  great  principle  of  the  age,  was  the  rule  of  his 
life :    The  love  of  Liberty  protected  hy  Law. 

You  have  now  assembled  within  these  renowned  walls  to 
perform  the  last  duties  of  respect  and  love,  on  the  birthday  of 
your  benefactor,  beneath  that  roof  which  has  resounded,  of  old, 
with  the  master  voices  of  American  renown.  The  spirit  of  the 
departed  is  in  high  communion  with  the  spirit  of  the  place  ;— 
the  temple  worthy  of  the  new  name  which  we  now  behold  in- 
scribed on  its  walls. 

Listen,  Americans,  to  the  lesson  which  seems  borne  to  us  on 


54  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

the  very  air  we  breathe,  while  we  perform  these  dutiful  rights. 
Ye  winds  that  wafted  the  Pilgrims  to  the  land  of  promise,  fan, 
in  their  children's  hearts,  the  love  of  freedom !  Blood  which 
our  fathers  shed,  cry  from  the  ground ;  echoing  arches  of  this 
renowned  hall,  whisper  back  the  voices  of  other  days ;  glorious 
Washington  !  beloved  Lafayette  !  teach,  oh  teach  us  the  love 

OF  LIBERTY  PROTECTED  BY  LAW  !  ^DWARD  EvEUETT. 


40.      MAN  MADE  TO  LABOR. 

Man  is,  by  nature,  an  active  being.  He  is  made  to  labor. 
His  whole  organization,  mental  and  physical,  is  that  of  a  hard- 
working being.  Of  his  mental  powers  we  have  no  conception, 
but  as  certain  capacities  of  intellectual  action.  His  corporeal 
faculties  are  contrived  for  the  same  end,  with  astonishing  variety 
of  adaptation.  Who  can  look  only  at  the  muscles  of  the  hand, 
and  doubt  that  man  was  made  to  work  ?  who  can  be  conscious 
of  judgment,  memory,  and  reflection,  and  doubt  that  man  was 
made  to  act  ?  He  requires  rest,  but  it  is  in  order  to  invigorate 
him  for  new  efforts  :  to  recruit  his  exhausted  powers  ;  and,  as 
if  to  show  him,  by  the  very  nature  of  rest,  that  it  is  means,  not 
end,  that  form  of  rest  which  is  most  essential  and  most  grateful, 
sleep,  is  attended  with  the  temporary  suspension  of  the  con- 
scious and  active  powers, — an  image  of  death.  Kature  is  so 
ordered,  as  both  to  require  and  encourage  man  to  work.  He  is 
created  with  wants,  which  cannot  be  satisfied  without  labor. 
The  plant  springs  up  and  grows  on  the  spot  where  the  seed  was 
cast  by  accident.  It  is  fed  by  the  moisture  which  saturates  the 
earth,  or  is  held  suspended  in  the  air ;  and  it  brings  with  it  a 
sufficient  covering  to  protect  its  delicate  internal  structure.  It 
toils  not,  neither  doth  it  spin,  for  clothing  or  food.  But  man  is 
so  created,  that  let  his  wants  be  as  simple  as  th^y  will,  he  must 
labor  to  supply  them.  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^^ 


"^  41.      WHAT  GOOD  ? 

But  I  am  met  with  the  objection,  What  good  will  the  monu- 
ment do  ?  I  beg  leave,  sir,  to  exercise  my  birthright  as  a  Yan- 
kee, and  answer  this  question  by  askmg  two  or  three  more, — to 


EDWARD  EVEKETT.  55 

whicli  I  believe  it  will  be  quite  as  difficult  to  furnish  a  satisfac- 
tory reply.  I  am  asked,  What  good  will  the  monument  do  ? 
And  I  ask,  What  good  does  any  thing  do  ?  What  is  good  ? 
Does  any  thing  do  any  good  ?  The  persons  who  suggest  this 
objection,  of  course,  think  that  there  are  some  projects  and  un- 
dertakings that  do  good ;  and  I  should  therefore  like  to  have 
the  idea  of  good  explained,  and  analyzed,  and  run  out  to  its  ele- 
ments. When  this  is  done,  if  I  do  not  demonstrate,  in  about 
two  minutes,  that  the  monument  does  the  same  kind  of  good 
that  any  thing  else  does,  I  will  consent  that  the  huge  blocks  of 
granite,  already  laid,  should  be  reduced  to  gravel,  and  carted  off 
to  fill  up  the  mill-pond  ;  for  that  I  suppose  is  one  of  the  good 
things.  Does  a  railroad  or  a  canal  do  good  ?  Answer :  Yes  ; 
and  how  ?  It  facihtates  intercourse,  opens  markets,  and  in- 
creases the  wealth  of  the  country.  But  Avhat  is  this  good  for  ? 
Why,  individuals  prosper  and  get  rich.  And  what  good  does 
that  do  ?  Is  mere  wealth,  as  an  ultimate  end ;  gold  and  silver, 
without  an  inquiry  as  to  their  use  ;  are  these  a  good  ?  Cer- 
tainly not.  I  should  insult  this  audience  by  attempting  to  prove 
that  a  rich  man,  as  such,  is  neither  better  nor  happier  than  a 
poor  one.  But  as  men  grow  rich,  they  live  better.  Is  there 
any  good  in  this,  stopping  here  ?  Is  mere  animal  life,  feeding, 
working,  and  sleeping  like  an  ox,  entitled  to  be  called  good  ? 
Certainly  not.  But  these  improvements  increase  the  popula- 
tion. And  what  good  does  that  do  ?  Where  is  the  good  in 
counting  twelve  millions  instead  of  six,  of  mere  feeding,  working, 
sleeping  animals  ?  There  is  then  no  good  in  the  mere  animal 
hfe,  except  that  it  is  the  physical  basis  of  that  higher  moral  ex- 
istence which  resides  in  the  soul,  the  heart,  the  mind,  the  con- 
science ;  in  good  principles,  good  filings,  and  the  good  actions 
(and  the  more  disinterested,  the  more  entitled  to  be  called  good), 
which  flow  from  them.  Now,  sir,  I  say  that  generous  and  pat- 
riotic sentiments  (sentiments  which  prepare  us  to  serve  our 
country,  to  live  for  our  country,  to  die  for  our  country),  feelings 
like  those  which  carried  Prescott,  and  Warren,  and  Putnam  to 
the  battle-field,  are  good  :  good,  humanly  speaking,  of  the  high- 
est order.  It  is  good  to  have  them  :  good  to  encourage  them  : 
good  to  honor  them  :  good  to  commemorate  them  ;  and  what- 
ever tends  to  cherish,  animate,  and  strengthen  such  feelings,  does 
as  much  right-down  practical  good  as  filhng  low  grounds  and 
building  raihoads.  ^^^^^^  j,^^^^^^; 


56  SKLECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 


42.      ADAMS  AND  JEFFERSON. 


No,  fellow -citizens,  we  dismiss  not  Adams  and  Jefferson  t« 
the  chambers  of  forgetfulness  and  death.  What  we  admired, 
and  prized,  and  venerated  in  them  can  never  die,  nor,  dying,  be 
forgotten.  I  had  almost  said  that  they  are  now  beginning  to 
live  ;  to  live  that  life  of  unimpaired  influence,  of  unclouded  fume, 
of  unmingled  happiness,  for  which  their  talents  and  services 
were  destined.  They  were  of  the  select  few,  the  least  portion 
of  whose  life  dwells  in  tlieir  physical  existence ;  whose  hearts 
have  watched  while  their  senses  slept ;  whose  souls  have  grown 
up  into  a  higher  being ;  whose  pleasure  is  to  be  useful ;  whose 
wealth  is  an  unblemished  reputation ;  who  respire  the  breath  ojf 
honorable  fame;  who  have  deliberately  and  consciously  put 
what  is  called  life  to  hazard,  that  they  may  live  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  come  after.  Such  men  do  not,  cannot  die.  To  be 
cold,  and  motionless,  and  breathless  ;  to  feel  not  and  speak  not ; 
this  is  not  the  end  of  existence  to  the  men  w^ho  have  breathed 
their  spirits  into  the  institutions  of  their  country,  who  have 
stamped  their  characters  on  the  pillars  of  the  age,  who  have 
poured  their  hearts'  blood  into  the  channels  of  the  public  pros- 
perity. Tell  me,  ye  who  tread  the  sods  of  yon  sacred  height, 
is  Warren  dead  ?  Can  you  not  still  see  him,  not  pale  and  pros- 
trate, the  blood  of  his  gallant  heart  pouring  out  of  his  ghastly 
wound,  but  moving  resplendent  over  the  field  of  honor,  with 
the  rose  of  heaven  upon  his  cheek,  and  the  fire  of  liberty  in  his 
eye  ?  Tell  me,  ye  who  make  your  pious  pilgrimage  to  the 
shades  of  Vernon,  is  Washington  indeed  shut  up  in  that  cold 
and  narrow  house  ?  That  which  made  these  men,  and  men  like 
these,  cannot  die.  The  hand  that  traced  the  charter  of  inde- 
pendence is  indeed  motionless,  the  eloquent  lips  that  sustained 
it  are  hushed ;  but  the  lofty  spirits  that  conceived,  resolved, 
matured,  maintained  it,  and  which  alone,  to  such  men,  "  make 
it  life  to  live,"  these  cannot  expire  : 

"  These  shall  resist  the  empire  of  decay,  ' 
When  time  is  o'er,  and  worlds  have  passed  away : 
Cold  in  the  dust  the  perished  heart  may  lie, 
But  that  which  warmed  it  once  can  never  die." 

Edwabd  EvEBirrr. 


WILLIAM  WIKT,  6^ 

43.     CIVIL  WAR. 

"  Quae  regio  in  terris,  nostri  non  plena  laboris  ?" 

Sir,  it  was  not  in  the  moment  of  triumph,  nor  with  the 
fcehngs  of  triumph,  that  ^neas  uttered  that  exclamation.  It 
was  when,  with  his  faithful  Achates  by  his  side,  he  was  survey- 
ing the  works  of  art  with  which  the  palace  of  Carthage  was 
adorned,  and  his  attention  had  been  caught  by  a  representation 
of  the  battles  of  Troy.  There  he  saw  the  sons  of  Atreus,  and 
Priam,  and  the  fierce  Achilles.  The  whole  extent  of  his  misfor- 
tunes, the  loss  and  desolation  of  his  friends,  the  fall  of  his 
beloved  country,  rushed  upon  his  recollection. 

"  Constitit  et  lachrj^mans,  quis  jam  locus,  inc[uit,  Achate, 
Q,u«  regio  in  terris,  nostri  non  plena  laboris  ?" 

Sir,  the  passage  may  hereafter  have  a  closer  application  to 
the  cause  than  my  eloquent  and  classical  friend  intended ;  for  if 
the  state  of  things  which  has  already  commenced  is  to  go  on ; 
if  the  spirit  of  hostihty  which  already  exists  in  three  of  our 
states  is  to  catch,  by  contagion,  and  spread  among  the  rest,  as, 
from  the  progress  of  the  human  passions,  and  the  unavoidable 
conflict  of  interests,  it  will  too  surely  do ; — what  are  we  to 
expect  ?  Civil  wars,  arising  from  far  inferior  causes,  have 
desolated  some  of  the  fairest  provinces  of  the  earth.  History 
is  full  of  the  afflicting  narratives  of  such  wars;  and  it  will 
continue  to  be  her  mournful  office  to  record  them,  till  '•  time 
shall  be  no  longer."  But,  sir,  if  you  do  not  interpose  your 
friendly  hand,  and  extirpate  the  seeds  of  anarchy  which  New 
York  has  sown,  you  will  have  civil  war.  The  war  of  legislation 
which  has  already  commenced  will,  according  to  its  usual  course, 
become  a  war  of  blows.  Your  country  will  be  shaken  with 
civil  strife  ;  your  republican  institutions  will  perish  in  the  con- 
•flict ;  your  constitution  will  fall :  the  last  hope  of  nations  will  be 
gone.  And  what  will  be  the  eff'ect  upon  the  rest  of  the  world  ? 
Look  abroad  at  the  scenes  now  passing  on  our  globe,  and  judge 
of  that  eff"ect.  The  friends  of  free  government  throughout  the 
earth,  who  have  been  heretofore  animated  by  our  example,  and 
have  cheerfully  cast  their  glance  to  it,  as  to  their  polar  star,  to 
guide  them  through  the  stormy  seas  of  revolution,  will  witness 
our  fall  with  dismay  and  despair.  The  arm  that  is  everywhere 
lifted  in  the  cause  of  liberty  wfll  drop  unnerved  by  the  warrior's 
side.  Despotism  Avill  have  its  day  of  triumph,  and  will  accom- 
plish the  purpose  at  which  it  too  certainly  aims.     It  will  cover 

8* 


58  SELECTIONS  IN  TEOSE. 

the  earth  with  the  mantle  of  mourning.  Then,  sir,  when  New 
York  shall  look  upon  this  scene  of  ruin,  if  she  have  the  gener- 
ous feelings  which  I  believe  her  to  have,  it  will  not  be  with  hei 
head  aloft,  in  the  pride  of  conscious  triumph,  "  her  rapt  sou] 
sitting  in  her  eyes."  No,  sir  ;  no  !  Dejected  with  shame  and 
confusion,  drooping  under  the  weight  of  her  sorrow,  with  a 
voice  suflfocated  with  despair,  well  may  she  then  exclaim, — 


Quis  jam  locus, 

Quae  regio  in  terris,  Bostri  non  plena  laboris  ?" 


William  Wikt. 


44.      THE  POOR  INDIAN. 

Poor  Indians  !  Where  are  they  now  ?  Indeed,  this  is  a 
truly  afflicting  consideration.  The  people  here  may  say  what 
they  please,  but,  on  the  principles  of  eternal  truth  and  justice, 
they  have  no  right  to  this  country.  They  say  that  they  have 
bought  it.  Bought  it  ?  Yes : — of  whom  ?  Of  the  poor 
trembling  natives,  who  knew  that  refusal  would  be  vain ;  and 
who  strove  to  make  a  merit  of  necessity,  by  seeming  to  yield 
with  grace  what  they  knew  that  they  had  not  the  power  to  retain. 

Poor  wretches  !  No  Avonder  that  they  are  so  implacably 
vindictive  against  the  white  people  :  no  wonder  that  the  rage  of 
resentment  is  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation :  no 
wonder  that  they  refuse  to  associate  and  mix  permanently  with 
their  unjust  and  cruel  invaders  and  exterminators  :  no  wonder 
that,  in  the  unabating  spite  and  phrensy  of  conscious  impotence, 
they  wage  an  eternal  war,  as  well  as  they  are  able  ;  that  they 
triumph  in  the  rare  opportunity  of  revenge  ;  that  they  dance, 
sing,  and  rejoice,  as  the  victim  shrieks  and  faints  amid  the 
flames,  when  they  imagine  all  the  crimes  of  their  oppressors 
collected  on  his  head,  and  fancy  the  spirits  of  their  injured 
forefathers  hovering  over  the  scene,  smiling  with  fprocious  delight 
at  the  grateful  spectacle,  and  feasting  on  the  precious  odor  as 
it  arises  from  the  burning  blood  of  the  white  man. 

Yet  the  people  here  affect  to  wonder  that  the  Indians  are  so 
very  untrasceptible  of  civilization  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  they 
so  obstinately  refuse  to  adopt  the  manners  of  the  white  men. 
Go,  Virginians,  erase  from  the  Indian  nation  the  tradition  of 
their  wrongs  :  make  them  forget,  if  you  can,  that  once  this 
charming  country  Avas  theirs  ;  that  over  these  fields  and 
through  tl\ese  forests  their  beloved  forefathers  once,  in  careless 


WILLIAM  WIKT. LEWIS  CASS.  59 

gayety,  pursued  their  sports,  and  hunted  their  game ;  that  every 
returning  day  found  them  the  sole,  the  peaceful,  and  happy 
proprietors  of  this  extensive  and  beautiful  domain.  Go,  admin- 
ister the  cup  of  oblivion  to  recollections  hke  these ;  and  then 
you  will  cease  to  complain  that  the  Indian  refuses  to  be  civilized. 
But,  until  then,  surely  it  is  nothing  wonderful  that  a  nation, 
even  yet  bleeding  afresh  from  the  memory  of  ancient  wrongs, 
perpetually  agonized  by  new  outrages,  and  goaded  into  desper- 
ation and  madness  at  the  prospect  of  the  certain  i  uin  which 
awaits  their  descendants,  should  hate  the  authors  of  their 
miseries,  of  their  desolation,  their  destruction;  should  hate' 
their  manners,  hate  their  color,  their  language,  their  name, 
and  every  thing  that  belongs  to  them  !  No  ;  never,  until  time 
shall  wear  out  the  history  of  their  sorrows  and  their  sufferings, 
will  the  Indian  be  brought  to  love  the  white  man,  and  to 
imitate  his  manners.  William  Wirt. 


45.    THE  SUSPENSION  OF  DIPLOMATIC  RELATIONS  WITH  AUSTRIA. 
(In  recognition  of  the  rights  of  Hungary.) 

Mr.  President,  I  do  not  mistake  the  true  position  of  mj 
country,  nor  do  I  seek  to  exaggerate  her  importance.  I  am 
perfectly  arware  that,  whatever  we  may  do  or  say,  the  immediate 
march  of  Austria  will  be  onward  in  the  course  of  despotism, 
with  a  step  feebler  or  firmer,  as  resistance  may  appear  near  or 
remote,  till  she  is  stayed  by  one  of  those  upheavings  of  the 
people,  which  is  as  sure  to  come  as  that  man  longs  for  freedom, 
and  longs  to  strike  the  blow  which  shall  make  it  his. 

Pride  is  blind,  and  power  tenacious  ;  and  Austrian  prid«  and 
power,  though  they  may  quail  before  the  signs  of  the  times, 
before  barricades  and  fraternization,  by  which  streets  are  made 
fortresses  and  armies  revolutionists,  new  and  mighty  engines  in 
popular  warfare,  will  hold  out  in  their  citadel  till  the  last 
extremity.  But  many  old  things  are  passing  away ;  and  Aus- 
trian despotism  will  pass  away  in  its  turn.  Its  bulwarks  will  be 
shaken  by  the  rushing  of  mighty  winds,  by  the  voice  of  the 
world,  wherever  its  indignant  expression  is  not  restrained  by  the 
kindred  sympathies  of  arbitrary  power.   - 

I  desire,  sir,  not  to  be  misunderstood.  I  do  not  mean  that  in 
all  the  revolutionary  struggles  which  political  contests  bring  on, 
it  would  be  expedient  for  other  governments  to  express  their 


00  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

feelings  of  interest  or  sympathy.  I  think  the)  should  not ;  foi 
there  are  obvious  considerations  Avbich  forbid  such  action,  and 
the  value  of  this  kind  of  moral  interposition  would  be  diminished 
by  its  too  frequent  recurrence.  It  should  be  reserved  for  great 
events — events  marked  by  great  crimes  and  oppressions  on  the 
one  side,  and  great  exertions  and  misfortunes  on  the  other,  and 
under  circumstances  which  carry  with  them  the  sympathies  of 
the  world,  like  the  partition  of  Poland  and  the  subjugation  of 
Hungary.  We  can  offer  public  congratulations,  as  we  have 
done,  to  people  crowned  by  success  in  ^heir  struggle  for 
freedom.  We  can  oflfer  our  recognition  of  their  independence 
to  others,  as  we  have  done,  while  yet  the  effort  was  pending. 
Have  we  sympathy  only  for  the  fortunate  ?  Or  is  a  cause  less 
sacred  or  less  dear  because  it  is  prostrated  in  the  dust  by  the 
foot  of  power  ?  Let  the  noble  sentiments  of  Washington,  in 
his  spirit-stirring  reply  to  the  French  minister,  answer  these 
questions  :  "  Born,  sir,  in  a  land  of  liberty  ;  having  early  learned 
to  estimate  its  value  ;  having,  in  a  word,  devoted  the  best  years 
of  my  life  to  its  maintenance,  I  rejoice  whensoever  in  any 
country  I  see  a  nation  imfold  the  banner  of  freedom.  To  call 
your  nation  brave,  were  but  common  praise.  Wonderful  people ! 
Ages  to  come  will  read  with  astonishment  the  history  of  your 
exploits." 

I  freely  confess  that  I  shall  hail  the  day  with  pleasure  when 
this  government,  reflecting  the  true  sentiments  of  the  people, 
shall  express  its  sympathy  for  struggling  millions  seeking,  in 
circumstances  of  peril  and  oppression,  that  liberty  which  was 
given  to  them  b)^  God,  but  has  been  wrested  from  them  by 
man.  I  do  not  see  any  danger  to  the  true  independence  of 
nations  by  such  a  course  ;  and  indeed  I  am  by  no  means  certain 
that  the  free  interchange  of  public  views  in  this  solemn  manner 
would  not  go  far  towards  checking  the  progress  of  oppression 
and  the  tendency  to  war.  j^^^.^^  ^^^^ 


4G.      THE  SUSPENSION  OF  DIPLOMATIC  RELATIONS  WITH  AUSTRIA. 

Mk.  President,  I  knoAV  that  I  sliall  be  accused  of  a  want  of 
sympathy  for  the  Hungarians,  whose  case  excites  so  much  atten- 
tion here.  So  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned,  I  care  nothing 
for  such  accusations,  for  I  have  a  witness  within  me  which  pro- 
nounces them  false.     But,  sir,  I  should  be  unwilling  to  inflict  8 


KOBEKT  M.  T.  HUNTEK.  61 

new  pang  upon  the  unfortunate  Hungarian,  by  doing  any  thing 
to  give  countenance  to  the  idea  that  there  was  any  man  or  class 
of  men  here  who  did  not  respect  and  sympathize  with  him  in  his 
misfortunes.  I  was  no  uninterested  observer  of  his  struggle — 
no  unmoved  witness  of  its  final  catastrophe.  If  my  good  wishes 
could  have  availed  him,  he  had  them  all.  I  have  studied  their 
history  with  interest,  and  learned  to  admire  and  respect  their 
national  character.  There  is  a  wild  mixture  of  Oriental  fervor 
and  western  chivalry  about  them  which  has  always  made  them 
objects  of  rather  a  romantic  interest.  History,  that  great  rec- 
ord of  human  affairs,  is  full  of  startling  contrasts  and  striking 
vicissitudes,  and  the  chapter  of  that  great  book  which  belongs 
to  Hungary  and  her  people  is  nearly  as  eventful  as  any.  When  I 
first  heard,  sir,  that  the  Hungarian  patriots  had  been  forced  to  take 
refuge  with  the  Turk,  and  seek  at  his  hands  the  charity  of  an  asy- 
lum which  Christendom  refused  them,  I  could  but  recall  the  day 
when  that  country  was  the  bulwark  of  Christendom  against  the 
Infidel,  and  Hunniades  made  good  its  title  to  that  debatable 
land  between  the  Crescent  and  the  Cross.  When  I  saw  who 
the  oppressor  was,  whose  foot  was  upon  the  neck  of  bleeding 
Hungary,  I  could  but  recur  to  the  time  when  a  noble  ancestress 
of  his,  who  to  the  loveliness  of  woman  added  the  soul  of  a  Cae- 
sar, threw  herself  upon  those  people  for  succor  and  protection. 
The  scene  arose  before  me,  as  it  appears  on  the  pictured  page  of 
Macauley,  in  which  she  is  represented  upon  horseback,  weak  from 
recent  suffering,  yet  strong  in  will,  flushed  under  the  weight  of 
St.  Stephen's  iron  crown,  and  after  a  fashion  of  her  race,  which 
would  have  been  deemed  extravagant  by  any  but  an  Oriental 
imagination,  waving  the  sword  of  state  to  the  four  quarters  of 
the  heavens,  and  bidding  defiance  to  the  earth.  ^ 

But  hard  as  has  been  the  lesson  taught  the  Hungarian  in  his 
recent  struggles,  it  would  do  no  good  for  foreign  powers  to  in- 
terpose in  his  favor  and  give  him  armed  assistance  :  still  less 
would  it  be  of  any  avail  to  offer  him  such  a  resolution  of  sympa- 
thy as  this.  There  is  not,  sir,  on  the  page  of  history,  an  in- 
stance of  a  nation  which  has  maintained  its  liberty  by  foreign 
aid ;  for  the  moment  the  protecting  hand  is  withdrawn,  it  must 
fall,  unless  it  has  some  internal  resources — some  means  within 
itself  of  maintaining  its  independence,  and  for  self-defence.  1 
have  said,  sir,  that  this  resolution  of  sympathy  will  do  the  Hun- 
garian cause  no  good.  But  is  that  enough  to  say  ?  Is  there 
no  danger  that  it  may  do  that  brave  but  unfortunate  people 
some  harm  ?  It  has  been  said,  by  wise  and  observing  men,  that 
'-he  final  catastrophe  of  Poland  was  probably  hastened  by  im- 


62  SEIJ]X)TiONS  IK  PEOSE. 

prudent  speeches  made  in  the  British  House  of  Commons  and 
the  French  Chamber  of  Deputies.  It  is  said  that  those  impru- 
dent but  sympathizing  speeches  awakened  false  hopes  in  Poland, 
and  led  to  unwise  movements  there.  Is  there  no  danger  that 
such  a  course  of  action  as  is  proposed  here  might  give  rise  to 
unfounded  hopes  in  Hungary,  or  increase,  perhaps,  their  suffer- 
ings by  irritating  those  who  govern  them  ?  But,  sir,  be  that  as 
it  may  with  regard  to  Hungary,  I  am  not  prepared  to  take  this 
step  from  considerations  of  what  is  due  to  ray  own  country.  I 
give  Hungary  my  best  wishes,  my  earnest  sympathy ;  but  I 
prefer  my  own  country  to  any  other,  and  I  cannot  sacrifice  iu 
interests  for  those  of  another.  I  was  sent  here  to  legislate,  not 
for  foreign  nations,  but  my  own.  I  will  not  abandon  my  own 
duties  in  the  attempt  to  discharge  those  of  another.  It  would 
doubtless  be  pleasing  to  any  generous  mind  to  indulge  the  de- 
mands of  sympathy ;  yet,  sir,  truth  and  justice  are  of  higher 
obhgation,  and  ought  to  be  of  higher  consideration  still.*  Mr. 
President,  I  cannot  vote  for  this  resolution.  I  owe  it  not  only, 
to  my  own  coimtry,  but  to  the  rights  of  man,  of  which  so  much 
is  said,  to  preserve  the  wise  and  long-established  policy  of  the 
former,  and  to  stand  by  the  principle  of  non-intervention  as  a 
high  moral  defence  and  security  for  the  other. 

Robert  M.  T.  Huntee.* 


47.      THE  president's  PROTEST. 

The  immediate  question  is  upon  the  rejection  of  the  President's 
message.  It  has  been  moved  to  reject  it — to  reject  it,  not  after  it 
was  considered,  but  before  it  was  considered  !  and  thus  to  tell 
the  American  people  that  their  president  shall  not  be  heard, — • 
should  not  be  allowed  to  plead  his  defence,  in  the  presence  of 
the  body  that  condemned  him,  neither  before  nor  after  it !  This 
is  the  motion  ;  and  certainly  no  enemy  to  the  senate  could  wish 
it  to  miscarry.  The  President,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  message, 
has  respectfully  requested  that  his  defence  might  be  entered 
upon  the  journal  of  the  senate — upon  that  same  journal  which 
contains  the  record  of  his  conviction.  This  is  the  request  of  the 
President.  Will  the  senate  deny  it  ?  Will  they  refuse  this 
act  of  sheer  justice  and  common  decency  ?  Will  they  go  fur- 
ther, and  not  only  refuse  to  place  it  on  the  journal,  but  refuse 
even  to  suffer  it  to  remain  in  the  senate  ?     Will  they  refuse  to 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Virginia. 


THOMAS  II.  BENTON.  ,  63 

permit  it  to  remain  on  file,  but  send  it  back,  or  throw  it  out  of 
doors,  without  condescending  to  reply  to  it?  for  that  is  the 
exact  import  of  the  motion  now  made  !  Will  senators  exhaust 
their  minds,  and  their  bodies  also,  in  loading  this  very  commu- 
nication with  epithets,  and  then  say  that  it  shall  not  be  received  ? 
Will  they  receive  memorials,  resolutions,  essays,  from  all  that 
choose  to  abuse  the  President,  and  not  receive  a  word  of  de- 
fence from  him  ?  Will  they  continue  the  spectacle  which  has 
been  presented  here  for  three  months — a  daily  presentation  of 
attacks  upon  the  President  from  all  that  choose  to  attack  him, 
young  and  old,  boys  and  men — attacks  echoing  the  very  sound 
of  this  resolution,  and  which  are  not  only  received  and  filed 
here,  but  printed  also,  and  referred  to  a  committee,  and  intro- 
duced, each  one  with  a  lauded  commentary  of  set  phrase  ? — are 
the  senate  to  receive  all  these,  and  yet  refuse  to  receive  from 
the  object  of  all  this  attack,  one  word  of  answer  ?  In  this  point 
of  view,  as  a  question  concerning  the  senate  itself,  it  may  become 
material  to  the  senate,  in  a  country  and  in  an  age  when  no  tri- 
bunal is  too  high  for  public  opinion  to  reach  it — it  may  become ' 
material  to  the  senate,  in  such  a  countiy  and  such  an  age,  to 
reject  and  throw  out  of  doors  the  calm  and  temperate  defence 
of  the  President,  in  the  midst  of  the  reception  of  a  thousand  me- 
morials and  resolutions  condemning  him  for  the  very  act  which 
he  is  not  allowed  to  defend.  Is  he  to  be  the  only  citizen  who 
is  not  to  be  heard  by  the  senate ;  upon  Avhom  it  seems  to  be 
lawful  for 'every  one  to  lavish  billingsgate  rhetoric,  whose  edu- 
cation and  manners  qualify  him  for  the  application  of  it  ?  Re- 
jected or  not,  that  communication  cannot  be  secreted  from  the 
eyes  of  the  American  people.  It  has  been  read,  and  will  be 
printed.  An  independent  press  will  carry  it  to  the  extremities 
of  the  country,  and  hand  it  down  to  succeeding  generations.  It 
will  be  compared  with  speeches  delivered  for  three  months  in 
this  capifbl  against  this  president ;  and  an  enlightened  and  up- 
right community  will  decide  between  the  language  of  the  de- 
fence and  the  language  of  the  accusation  ;  between  the  temper 
of  the  accusers  and  the  temper  of  the  accused ;  between  the 
■violent  President  who  has  violated  the  constitution  and  the 
laws,  and  the  meek  and  gentle  senators  who  have  sat  in  judg- 
ment upon  him  for  it.  The  people  will  see  these  things — will 
compare  them  together — Avill  judge  for  themselves  ;  and  that 
judgment,  in  this  free  and  happy  land,  will  be  the  final  and  su- 
preme award,  from  which  there  is  no  appeal. 

Thomas  H.  Benton.* 
*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Missouri. 


64t  SELECTIONS  IN  TEOSE. 


48.      THE  RIGHT  TO  DISCUSS  PRESIDENTIAL  ACTS.  » 

The  gentleman  has  referred  to  the  contest  to  be  foughl 
between  Uberty  and  power;  and  I  say,  that  if  the  contest  did 
not  originate  here,  it  is  made  when  we  are  not  permitted  to 
speak  of  the  administration  in  terms  that  we  believe  to  be  true, 
without  being  denounced  for  it.  The  President  of  the  United 
States  certainly  demands  a  degree  of  forbearance  from  his 
pohtical  opponents ;  but  am  I  to  be  told,  that  one  can  only 
allude  to  him  in  the  humble  language  of  a  degraded  Roman 
senate,  speaking  of  the  emperor  with  his  Prsetorian  guards 
surrounding  the  capitol  ?  Am  I  to  be  told,  when  he  came  into 
power  on  principles  of  reform,  after  **  keeping  the  word  of 
promise  to  our  ear,  and  breaking  it  to  our  hope," — am  I  to  be 
told  that  I  must  close  my  lips,  or  be  denounced  for  want  of 
decorum  ?  Am  I  to  be  told,  when  he  promised  to  prevent 
official  influence  from  interfering  with  the  freedom  of  elections, 
that  I  must  not  speak  of  the  broken  promise,  under  pain  of  the 
displeasure  of  his  friends  ?  Am  I  to  be  tpld,  when  he  came 
into  power  as  a  judicious  tariff  man,  after  advocating  his  prin- 
ciples and  aiding  in  his  election, — believing  at  the  time  in  his 
integrity,  though  I  did  not  believe  him  possessed  of  intellectual 
qualifications, — am  I  to  be  told,  after  pledges  that  have  been 
violated,  promises  that  have  been  broken,  and  principles  thai 
have  been  set  at  naught,  that  I  must  not  speak  of  these  things 
as  they  are,  for  fear  of  being  denounced  for  want  of  courtesy 
to  the  constituted  authorities  ?  Why,  to  wliat  pass  are  wo 
come  !  Are  we  to  be  gagged — reduced  to  silence  ?  If  nothing 
else  is  left  to  us,  the  liberty  of  speech  is  left,  and  it  is  our  duty 
to  cry  aloud  and  spare  not,  when  the  undenied,  admitted,  and 
declared  fact  before  us  is,  that  these  pledges  have  been  made, 
and  have  been  violated.  This  administration  is  about  to  end, 
and  if  gentlemen  can  succeed  in  preventing  us  from  complaining 
of  being  deceived — if  they  can  reduce  us  to  abject  slavery,  they 
will  also  have  to  expunge  tlie  history  of  the  country,  the 
President's  written  and  recorded  communications  to  congress, 
and  the  most  ardent  professions  of  his  friends,  when  fighting 
his  battles,  before  they  can  conceal  the  recorded  fact,  that  he 
has  made  pledges  which  he  has  violated,  and  promises  which  he 
has  repeatedly  broken.  If  they  succeed  in  reducing  us  to 
slavery,  and  closing  our  hps  against  speaking  of  the  abuses  of 
this  administration,  thank  God,  the  voice  of  history,  trumpet- 


\VILLIAM  B.  PKESTON. JOHN  EANDOLPH.  65 

tongued,  will  proclaim  these  pledges,  and  the  manner  in  which 
they  have  been  violated,  to  future  generations. 

Neither  here  nor  elsewhere  will  I  use  language,  with  regard 
to  any  gentleman,  that  may  be  considered  indecorous ;  and  the 
question  not  easily  solved  is,  how  far  shall  we  restrain  ourselves 
in  expressing  a  just  and  necessary  indignation ;  and  whether 
the  expression  of  such  indignation  may  be  considered  a  departure 
from  courtesy  ?  That  indignation,  that  reprobation,  I  shall 
express  on  all  occasions.  But  those  who  have  taken  upon 
themselves  the  guardianship  of  the  Grand  Lama,  who  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  light  which  no  one  can  approach, — about  whom 
no  one  is  permitted  to  speak  Avithout  censure, — have  extended 
that  guardianship  to  the  presiding  officer  of  this  house.  Gentle- 
men are  not  permitted  to  speak  of  the  qualifications  of  that 
offi.cer  for  the  highest  office  in  the  government.  Shall  we,  sir, 
because  he  is  here  as  presiding  officer  of  this  body,  keep  silent 
when  he  is  urged  upon  the  people,  who  are  goaded  and  driven 
to  his  support,  lest  we  be  guilty  of  an  indecorum  against  those 
who  are  the  constituted  authorities  of  the  country  ?  Thank 
God,  it  is  not  my  practice  to  "  crook  the  phant  hinges  of  the 
knee,  that  thrift  may  follow  fawning." 

This  aggression  of  power  upon  our  liberties,  sir,  and  this  tame 
submission  to  aggression,  forebode  evil  to  this  nation.  **  Coming 
events  cast  their  shadows  before  them,"  deepening  and  dark- 
ening, and,  as  the  sun  sets,  the  shadoAvs  lengthen.  It  may  be 
the  going  "down  of  the  great  luminary  of  the  republic,  and  that 
we  all  shall  be  enveloped  in  one  universal  political  darkness  ! 

William  B.  Pueston* 


49.      BRITISH  INFLUENCE. 

Against  whom  are  these  charges  of  British  predilection 
brought?  Against  men  who,  in  the  war  of  the  revolution, 
were  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  or  fio-htine:  the  battles  of 
your  country. 

Strange,  that  we  should  have  no  objection  to  any  other  people 
or  government,  civilized  or  savage,  in  the  whole  world !  The 
great  autocrat  of  all  the  Russias  receives  the  homage  of  our 
high  consideration.  The  Dey  of  Algiers  and  his  divan  of  pirates 
are  a  very  civil,  good  sort  of  people,  with  whom  we  find  no  diff^- 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  South  Carolina. 


6©  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

culty  in  maintaining  the  relations  of  peace  and  amity.  *'  Turks, 
Jews,  and  Infidels,"  or  the  barbarians  and  savages  of  every 
clime  and  color,  are  welcome  to  our  arms.  With  chiefs  of 
banditti,  negro  or  mulatto,  we  can  treat  and  can  trade.  Name, 
however,  but  England,  and  all  our  antipathies  are  up  in  arms 
against  her.  Against  whom?  Against  those  whose  blood 
runs  in  our  veins ;  in  common  with  whom,  we  claim  Shakspeare, 
and  JN'ewton,  and  Chatham,  for  our  countrymen  ;  whose 
government  is  the  freest  on  earth,  our  own  only  excepted ; 
from  whom  every  valuable  principle  of  our  own  institutions  has 
been  borrowed — representation,  trial  by  jury,  voting  the  sup- 
plies, writ  of  habeas  corpus — our  whole  civil  and  criminal  juris- 
prudence. In  what  school  did  the  worthies  of  our  land,  the 
Washingtons,  Henrys,  Hancocks,  Franklins,  Rutledges,  of 
America,  learn  those  principles  of  civil  liberty  which  were  so 
nobly  asserted  by  their  wisdom  and  valor  ?  American  resistance 
to  British  usurpation  has  not  been  more  warmly  cherished  by 
these  great  men  and  their  compatriots — not  more  by  Washing- 
ton, Hancock,  and  Henry — than  by  Chatham  and  his  illustrious 
associates  in  the  British  parhament. 

It  ought  to  be  remembered,  too,  that  the  heart  of  the 
English  people  was  with  us.  It  was  a  selfish  and  corrupt 
ministry,  and  their  servile  tools,  to  whom  we  were  not  more 
opposed  than  they  were.  I  trust  that  none  such  may  ever  exist 
among  us ;  for  tools  will  never  be  wanting  to  subserve  the 
purposes,  however  ruinous  or  wicked,  of  kings  and  ministers  of 
state.  I  acknowledge  the  influence  of  a  Shakspeare  and  a 
Milton  upon  my  imagination,  of  a  Locke  upon  my  understand- 
ing, of  a  Sidney  upon  my  poHtical  principles,  of  a  Chatham 
upon  qualities  which,  would  to  God,  I  possessed  in  common 
with  that  illustrious  man !  This  is  a  British  influence  v*^hich  I 
can  never  shake  ofi-.  j^^^  Rakdolph.*- 


50.      WAR  WITH  FRANCE. 

France  has  been  placed  before  the  world  by  her  rulers  in 
the  most  false  position  ever  occupied  by  a  brave  and  gallant 
nation.  She  believes  herself  to  be  insulted,  and  what  is  the 
consequence  ?     She  refuses  to  pay  a  debt  now  admitted  to  be 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Virginia. 


JAJklES  BUCHAJ^AX.  67 

just  by  all  the  branches  of  her  government.  Her  wounded 
feelings  are  estimated  by  dollars  and  cents ;  and  she  withholds 
twenty-five  'millions  of  francs,  due  to  a  foreign  nation,  to  soothe 
her  injured  pride.  How  are  the  mighty  fallen !  Truly  it  may 
be  said,  the  days  of  her  chivalry  are  gone.  Have  the  pride  and 
the  genius  of  Napoleon  left  no  traces  of  themselves  under  the 
constitutional  monarchy  ?  In  private  life,  if  you  are  insulted  by 
an  individual  to  whom  you  are  indebted,  what  is  the  first  im- 
pulse of  a  man  of  honor  ?  To  owe  no  pecuniary  obligation  to 
the  man  who  has  wounded  your  feelings ;  to  pay  him  the  debt 
instantly,  and  to  demand  reparation  for  the  insult ;  or,  at  the 
least,  to  hold  no  friendly  communication  with  him  afterwards. 

The  only  question  with  you  now,  is  not  one  of  substance,  but 
merely  whether  these  explanations  are  in  proper  form.  But  in 
regard  to  the  United  States,  the  question  is  far  different.  What 
is  with  you  mere  etiquette,  is  a  question  of  life  and  death  to 
them.  Let  the  President  of  the  United  States  make  the  apology 
which  you  have  dictated — let  him  once  admit  the  right  of  a 
foreign  government  to  question  his  messages  to  congress,  and  to 
demand  explanations  of  any  language  at  which  they  may  choose 
to  take  offence,  and  their  independent  existence  as  a  government, 
to  that  extent,  is  virtually  destroyed. 

We  must  remember  that  France  may  yield  with  honor ;  we 
never  can  without  disgrace.  Will  she  yield  ?  That  is  the  ques- 
tion. She  must  still  believe  that  the  people  of  this  country  are- 
divided  in  opinion  in  regard  to  the  firm  maintenance  of  their 
rights.  In  this  she  will  find  herself  entirely  mistaken.  But 
should  congress,  at  the  present  session,  refuse  to  sustain  the 
President,  by  adopting  measures  of  defence, — should  the  prece- 
dent of  the  last'  session  be  followed  for  the  present  year,  then  I 
shall  entertain  the  most  gloomy  forebodings.  The  father  of  his 
country  has  informed  us  that  the  best  mode  of  preserving  peace 
is  to  be  prepared  for  war.  I  firmly  believe,  therefore,  that  a 
unanimous  vote  of  the  senate  in  favor  of  the  resolutions  now 
before  them,  to  follow  to  Europe  the  acceptance  of  the  media- 
tion, would,  almost  to  a  certainty,  render  it  successful.  It  would 
be  an  act  of  the  soundest  policy,  as  Avell  as  of  the  highest  pat- 
riotism. It  would  prove,  not  that  we  intend  to  menace  France, 
because  such  an  attempt  would  be  ridiculous,  but  that  the 
American  people  are  unanimous  in  the  assertion  of  their  rights, 
and  have  resolved  to  prepare  for  the  worst.  A  French  fleet  is 
nov/  hovering  upon  our  coasts ;  and  shall  we  sit  still,  with  au 
overflowing  treasury,  and  leave  our  country  defenceless  ?  This 
will  never  be  said  with  truth  of  the  American  Congress.  • 


68  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

'  If  war  should  come,  which  God  forbid. — if  France  should 
still  persist  in  her  efforts  to  degrade  the  American  people  in  the 
person  of  their  chief  magistrate,  we  may  appeal  to  heaven  for 
the  justice  of  our  cause,  and  look  forward  with  confidence  to 
victory  from  that  Being  in  whose  hands  is  the  destiny  of  nations 

James  Buchanan  * 


51.      WAR  WITH  FRANCE. 

1  AGREE  with  the  hoiiorable  senator  that  France  owes  us 
twenty-five  millions  of  francs,  and  that  she  assigns  an  insuffi- 
cient reason  for  withholding  payment.  But  this  is  the  whole 
head  and  front  of  her  offending.  We  have  no  other  complaint 
against  her.  Would  it  be  expedient  and  proper  for  us  to  make 
war  for  such  a  cause  ?  There  is  no  other  cause  of  complaint  on 
our  part.  France  has  in  no  way  offended  against  us  on  this  oc- 
casion, except  only  by  her  failure  to  pay  the  money  in  question. 
Shall  we  go  to  war  to  enforce  its  payment  ? 

It  is  needless  to  discuss  the  question.  Thank  God,  the  dan- 
ger of  this  war  has  passed  by,  and  we  have,  as  I  believe,  an  al- 
most certain  assurance  of  reconciliation  and  peace  with  France. 
Such  an  issue  of  this  controversy  cannot  be  regarded  otherwise 
than  as  a  matter  of  public  congratulation.  If  war  had  been  its 
result,  I  should  have  contributed  all  that  was  in  my  humble 
power  to  render  my  country  successful  in  that  war.  War  of 
itself  would  have  been  a  sufficient  reason  for  me  to  take  my 
country's  side,  without  reference  to  its  cause.  But,  sir,  I  must 
confess  that  I  should  have  been  most  loth  to  witness  any  such 
war  as  that  with  which  we  have  been  threatened. 

A  war  with  whom,  and  for  what  ?  A  war  with  France,  our 
first,  our  ancient  ally — whose  blood  flowed  for  us  and  with  our 
own,  in  the  great  struggle  that  gave  us  our  freedom  and  made 
us  a  nation.  A  war  for  money  !  a  petty,  paltry 'sum  of  money  ! 
I  know  of  no  instance,  certainly  none  among  the  civilized  nations 
of  modern  times,  of  a  war  waged  for  such  an  object ;  and  if  it 
be  among  the  legitimate  causes  of  war,  it  is  surely  the  most  in- 
glorious of  them  all.  It  can  afford  but  little  of  that  generous 
inspiration  which  in  a  noble  cause  gives  to  war  its  magnanimity 
and  its  glory.  War  for  money  must  ever  be  an  ignoble  strife. 
On  its  barren  fields  the  laurel  cannot  flourish.     In  the  sordid 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  rennsylvunia. 


JOHN  J.  CKITTENDKN-. — ^JOHN  M.  BEKKIEN.  69 

contest  but  little  honor  can  be  won,  and  victory  herself  is  almost 
despoiled  of  her  triumph. 

If  we  should  attempt  by  war  to  compel  France  to  pay  the 
money  in  question,  none  who  know  the  two  nations  can  doubt 
but  the  contest  would  be  fierce,  bloody,  and  obstinate.  Sup- 
pose, however,  that  our  success  is  such  as  finally  to  enable 
us  to  dictate  terms  to  France,  and  to  oblige  her  to  pay  the 
money.  Imagine,  Mr.  Presidefit,  that  the  little  purse,  the  prize 
of  war  and  carnage,  is  at  last  obtained.  There  it  is,  sir,  stained 
with  the  blood  of  Americans,  and  of  Frenchmen,  their  ancient 
friends.  Could  you,  sir,  behold  or  pocket  that  blood-stained 
purse  without  some  emotions  of  pain  and  remorse  ? 

John  J.  Crittenden.* 


62.      THE  MEXICAN  WAR. 

Sir,  there  is  a  responsibility,  direct,  immediate,  which  may 
not  be  disregarded,  which  we  are  compelled  to  recognize.  He 
is  recreant  from  all  the  duties  of  an  American  senator,  of  an 
American  citizen,  who  will  not  obey  its  behests.  It  is  our  re- 
sponsibihty  to  our  immediate  constituents — to  the  American 
people.  To  them  we  must  render  an  account  of  the  origin  of 
this  war,  of  the  manner  in  which  it  is  conducted,  of  the  purposes 
for  which  it  is  prosecuted.  That  people,  sir,  are  awake  to  these 
inquiries.  The  excitement  of  feeling,  produced  by  the  first  in- 
telligence from  the  Rio  Grande,  has  given  place  to  reflection. 
In  the  fervor  of  that  feeling  they  did  not  stop  to  inquire  into  the 
indignity  okrired  to  Mexico,  by  the  occupation  of  a  disputed  ter- 
ritory— (of  a  territory  which  we  ourselves  had  admitted  to  be 
the  subject  of  negotiation) — of  the  erection  of  a  fort  on  the  east- 
ern bank  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  pointing  of  our  cannon  on 
the  town  of  Matamoras.  All  this  was  forgotten  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment.  American  blood  had  been  shed,  and  it 
must  be  avenged.  They  are  calmer  now.  That  feeling  has 
been  appeased.  Whatever  indignity  was  offered  by  Mexican 
officers  to  American  arms,  nas  been  washed  out  by  Mexican 
blood,  which  flowed  so  copiously  at  Palo  Alto,  Resaca  de  la 
Palma,  and  at  Monterey.  Great  God  !  is  not  this  sufficient 
atonement  to  Christian  men  ?  Sir,  the  indignity  has  been  ex- 
piated ;  and  now  the  inquiries  are,  with  what  views  is  this  war 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Kentucky. 


70  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

still  prosecuted  ?  Witli  what  object  has  our  army  been  pushed 
into  the  heart  of  Mexico  ?  What  do  you  expect  to  gain,  which 
it  may  consist  with  your  honor,  or  even  with  your  interest,  to 
receive  ?  For  what  practical  purposes,  for  what  attainable  ob- 
jects, to  what  end,  useful  and  honorable  to  the  United  States, 
is  that  army  maintained  there,  and  still  urged  onward,  at  such 
an  expense,  of  blood  and  treasure, — loading  us  with  a  national 
debt,  to  be  redeemed  by  a  burdensome .  taxation,  and  involving 
a  wanton  sacrifice  of  the  lives  of  our  patriotic  citizens,  who  have 
flocked  to  the  national  standard  ?  Will  you .  go  before  the 
American  people,  gallant,  generous,  noble-minded,  as  you  know 
they  are,  and  tell  them  the  national  honor  has  been  redeemed, 
the  shed  blood  of  our  people  has  been  avenged  by  the  gallantry 
of  our  army ;  and  that  now  we  are  fighting  to  despoil  a  stricken 
foe  of  such  portion  of  her  territory  as  may  indemnify  us  for  the 
expense  of  vindicating  our  honor  ?  Beheve  me,  they  will  reject 
the  appeal  with  scorn  and  indignation.  The  inquiries  which  I 
have  presented  will  be  reiterated  in  your  ears — not  perhaps  by 
politicians — certainly  not  by  party  presses — assuredly  not  by 
those  ardent  spirits  who,  tired  of  the  dull  pursuits  of  civil  life, 
seek  mihtary  glory  at  whatever  cost ;  but  they  will  be  made  by 
the  patriotic  yeomanry,  by  the  merchant,  the  mechanic,  the 
manufacturer,  by  men  of  all  occupations — by  the  moral,  reli- 
gious, conservative  portion  of  our  countrymen,  constituting  in 
numbers  a  proportion  of  the  American  people  whose  voice  may 
not  be  disregarded.  They  will  call  upon  you  to  consider  that 
within  two  short  years  you  found  this  people  free,  prosperous, 
and  happy — with  every  department  of  industry  flourishing,  with 
an  ample  revenue,  and  at  peace  with  the  world — and  they  will 
point  to  the  condition  to  which  you  have  reduced  us. 

Mr.  President,  in  the  bustle  of  the  pubhc  mart,  in  the  quiet 
retirement  of  the  domestic  fireside,  these  inquiries  and  these  re- 
flections now  press  upon  the  minds  of  our  countrymen  with 
a  force  and  intensity  which  I  have  no  power  to  express,  and  1 
pray  senators  to  receive^  in  the  spirit  in  which  it;  is  oflfered,  the 
warning  which  I  give  them^  that  they,  and  that  I  must  answer 

*  U.  S.  Senator  fr'^m  Gep*-gia. 


ANDREW  P.  BUTLEE.  73 


53.      THE  UNION. 


There  has  been  much  said  about  the  feeling  of  a  portion  of 
this  Union  as  being  ready  to  dissolve  it.  I  am  not  to  be  terri- 
fied or  controlled  by  any  imputations  of  that  kind.  This  Union 
has  its  uses,  just  according  to  the  use  that  is  made  of  it.  It 
may  be  used  as  a  great  trust  to  effect  the  greatest  ends  that 
time  ever  committed  to  human  institutions ;  and  it  is  in  the 
power  of  patriots  and  statesmen  to  make  it  subserve  these  ends. 
But  Avhen  it  shall  be  made  a  mere  instrument  of  partial  legisla- 
tion, and  to  pander  to  the  views  and  ends  of  hypocritical  dema- 
gogues, it  will  cease  to  be  an  object  of  veneration,  unless  its 
worshippers  shall  be  like  those  of  Juggernaut,  who  regard  it  as 
a  pious  service  to  prostrate  themselves  and  be  crushed  by  the 
wheels  of  his  car.  I  believe  I  am  one  of  its  real  friends,  and 
the  charge  of  criminal  design  upon  its  duration  comes  with  an 
ill  grace  from  those  who  have  adhered  to  selfish  and  unjust  pur- 
poses. 

Those  who  have  introduced  here  the  doctrines  which  we  are 
called  upon  to  question,  have  no  right  to  measure  the  extent  of 
my  opposition.  What  that  measure  will  be  I  do  not  know.  I 
am  willing  to  accede  to  any  peaceful  constitutional  measure 
which  will  tend  to  preserve  the  Union  itself ;  these  means  may 
be  too  long  disregarded ;  there  is  a  limit.  I  am  astonished 
when  I  hear  the  language  sometimes  used  by  the  representatives 
from  the  "  old  thirteen ;"  from  Massachusetts,  Connecticut, 
Rhode  Island,  New  York,  and  New  Jersey,  making  war  upon 
their  brethren  of  the  southern  sections  of  the  Union,  whicli 
seems  to  me  but  the  policy  that  results  in  their  own  suicide. 
They  give  way  to  these  wild  fanatical  suggestions  of  policy 
in  disregard  of  those  admonitions  which  should  address  them- 
selves to  them  from  their  past  history,  as  vfell  as  in  view  of 
their  future  destiny.  They  are  waging  a  war  against  their 
interest,  under  the  influence  of  feelings  which  were  inculcated 
by.  their  ancestors,  and  sowing  the  seeds  of  disunion. 

I  have  said  what  I  designed  to  say  at  this  time,  but  with  it  I 
would,  if  I  dared,  make  a  suggestion  to  the  administration, 
which  has  now,  in  a  measure,  the  control  of  the  destinies  of  this 
country  ;  and  it  would  be,  that  they  should  not  experiment  upoi* 
the  disaffection  which  exists  in  one  portion  of  this  Union.  I 
know,  sir,  it  is  deeper,  far  deeper  than  has  ever  been  exhibited 
on  this  floor.  I  fear  it  has  been  too  much  disguised.  And  it 
is  not  confined  to  South  Carolina,  as  some  seem  to  consider, 


f  2  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOBE." 

Some  would  be  glad  to  see  her  isolated  from  others,  and 
thereby  made  an  easier  victim.  The  people  of  other  southern 
states  are  speaking  out,  and  if  events  are  not  arrested,  there 
will  be  but  one  voice,  and  that  voice  will  come  from  the  mass 
of  the  people.  The  press  and  politicians  cannot  much  longer 
delude  them.  What  state  may  be  the  first  to  be  involved  in 
measures  of  resistance  I  know  not.  South  Carolina  has  some- 
times cried  out  as  a  sentinel.  But  there  are  others  having  greater 
interests  at  stake,  and  which  will  be  put  ultimately  in  great 
danger.  They  will  look  to  their  security  and  interests,  and  all 
will  move  as  one  man.  It  is  for  those  who  have  the  destinies 
of  this  nation  in  their  hands  to  say  how  far  they  will  respect  the 
feelings  of  the  South.  ^^^^^^  p^  3^^^^^ 


54.   THE  SOUTH  AND  THE  UNION. 

The  honorable  gentleman,  sir,  spoke  with  eloquent  fervor  of 
the  deep  and  abiding  attachment  of  the  South  to  the  blessed 
union  of  these  states.  I  am  not  about  to  call  in  question  the 
sincerity  of  his  declaration.  When  the  blessings,  vast,  number- 
less, unexampled,  which,  by  the  providence  of  God,  that  union 
has  conferred  upon  the  people  of  our  country,  are  for  one 
moment  considered,  no  mind  not  utterly  bhnded  to  our  best  and 
dearest  interests — no  heart  not  utterly  dead  to  the  happiness  of 
the  hunian  race,  and  the  hopes  of  civil  liberty  itself,  can  be 
indifferent  as  to  its  preservation.  What  has  it  not  done  for 
human  happiness  and  human  advancement  ?  From  the  lowest 
condition  of  anarchy,  disorder,  and  weakness — of  poverty  and 
national  degradation — it  has  raised  us  to  an  eminence  of  his:h 
and  enviable  prosperity  and  strength,  of  respect  in  the  eyes  of 
all  nations,  of  regular  government ;  and  has  established  and 
built  up  all  the  institutions  of  social  and  civil  life,  for  which  I 
know  not  what  history  of  the  world  furnishes  a  parallel.  When 
did  the  light  of  heaven  ever  shine  down  upon  more  glorious  and 
indubitable  proofs  of  the  efficiency  and  wisdom  of  human 
government  than  the  condition  of  our  country  now  displays  ? 
1^0  all  these,  the  South  cannot  be  insensible — cannot  but  indulge 
patriotic  pride,  and  feel  attachments  to  the  Union,  not  to  be 
sundered  for  light  and  temporary  causes,  for  imaginary  griev- 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  South  Carolina 


GEORGE  EVANS.  73 

aiiues,  for  doubtful  and  contested  theories  of  political  economy. 
It  will  not  calmly  see  this  Union  rent  in  twain,  to  be  followed 
by  what  no  human  sagacity  can  foresee.  But,  much  as  the 
South  is  attached  to  the  Union,  it  is  attached  to  liberty  more. 
Liberty  is  the  first  object  of  all  its  efforts  and  aspirations.  Is 
the  honur.kble  gentleman  quite  sanguine  that  liberty,  even  at 
the  South,  vv^ill  long  survive  the  dissolution  of  the  Union  ?  Does 
he  hold  thb  bond  of  fate  ?  Can  he  cast  its  horoscope  ?  I  am 
not  disposed  to  enter  into  invidious  comparisons,  nor  to  question 
the  resources,  the  capacity,  the  ability  of  the  South  to  maintain 
a  separate  gov^ernment,  and  to  occupy  a  high  position  among 
the  nations  of  the  world.  It  is  not  unbecoming,  however,  to 
suggest  to  those  who  are  most  ardent  in  their  faith,  to  weigh 
well  all  the  considerations — to  calculate  all  the  vicissitudes  per- 
taining to  a  subject  r^o  awfully  momentous.  If  that  disastrous 
event  should  occur,  and  an  independent  government  be  estab- 
lished at  the  South, — are  all  the  rivakies,  the  passions,  the 
ambition,  the  interests  which  agitate  the  bosoms  of  men,  and 
shake  societies  and  communities,  as  Avith  an  earthquake,  to  be 
smothered  and  annihilated  ?  Are  the  hidden  fires  which  heave 
empires  from  their  deep  foundations  to  be  extinguished  ?  Will 
no  sources  of  discord  remain — no  clouds  float  in  the  clear  vault 
over  their  heads  ?  He  has  read  the  annals  of  our  race,  and 
studied  the  liuman  character  to  little  purpose,  who  indulges  in 
reveries  like  these. .  How  is  it,  even  now  ?  Is  there  entire 
unanimity  of  principle  or  purpose  at  the  South  ?  Do  contig- 
uous states,  separated  only  by  a  narrow  stream,  entirely  har- 
monize ?  In  view  of  these  things,  Avhat  assurance  can  the 
gentleman  have  that,  whatever  befall  the  Union,  liberty  will 
still  fix  her  chosen  abode  at  the  South  ?  Is  there  any  thing  sc 
peculiar  in  its  institutions,  its  principles,  its  policy,  as  to  induce 
the  fond  belief  that  her  last  footsteps  on  earth  will  be  found 
there  ?  In  after  ages,  if  some  zealous  votary,  groping  among 
the  fallen  ruins  and  scattered  fragments  of  her  temples,  to 
rescue  some  monument  of  her  existence  from  the  remorseless 
hand  of  time,  shall  explore  the  vestiges  she  haa  left,  will  he 
exclaim  of  the  South,  exclusively,  in  the  language  of  the  Roman 
poet,  "  hie  illius  arma — hie  currus  fuit  ?" 

Sir,  it  is  "  better  to  bear  the  ills  we  have"  than  to  seek  a 
remedy  in  the  dark  chaos  of  disunion.  All  history  admonishes 
us  of  its  deplorable  results.  Faction,  commotion,  discord,  civil 
war, — how  have  they  not  written  awful  lessons,  as  inscriptions 
upon  the  tombstones  of  nations  !  Does  it  not  become  us,  then, 
the  South  as  well  as  the  North,  the  East  no  less  than  the  West, 

4 


74  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

to  start  back  from  this  yawning  and  fathomless  abyss  of  disunion, 
whose  depths  no  human  eye  can  reach,  and  from  which  the 
groans  of  buried  empires  send  back  fearful  warning?  God 
grant  that  we  may  not  blindly,  madly,  rashly,  plunge  in,  to 
explore  for  ourselves  the  dark  recesses  of  its  dreary  caverns  ! 

Geokse  Evans.* 


55.      THE  UNION. 


But  a  few  days  since,  I  visited  the  hall  where  the  immortal 
Washington,  after  carving  out  the  liberty  which  we,  in  common 
with  twenty-five  millions  of  our  fellow-beings,  this  day  enjoy, 
with  a  victorious,  yet  unpaid  army,  who  adored  him,  under  his 
command,  surrendered  his  commission  and  his  sword  volun- 
tarily to  the  representatives  of  a  few  exhausted  colonies.  That 
sublime  occasion  yet  imparts  its  sacred  influences  to  the  place, 
and  there  is  eloquence  in  its  silent  walls.  But  where,  said  I, 
are  the  brave  and  patriotic  spirits  who  here  fostered  the  germ 
of  this  mighty  empire  ?  Alas  !  they  have  gone  to  their 
rewards,  and  the  clods  of  the  valley  lie  heavily  on  their  hearts ; 
while  we,  their  ungrateful  children,  with  every  element  of  good 
before  us,  forgetting  the  mighty  sacrifices  ^they  made  for  their 
descendants,  trifle  with  the  rich  blessings  we  inherited,  and  are 
ready,  with  sacrilegious  hands,  to  despoil  the  temple  of  liberty 
which  they  reared  by  years  of  toil  and  trial,  and  cemented  in 
blood  and  tears.  Oh  !  could  we  not  have  defei*red  this  inhuman 
struggle  until  the  departure  from  amongst  us  of  the  revolutionary 
soldier,  with  his  bowed  and  tottering  frame,  and  his  once  bright 
eye  dimmed  ?  Ask  him  the  cost  of  liberty,  and  he  will  "  shoulder 
his  crutch  and  tell  how  fields  were  won,"  and  tell  you  of  its 
priceless  value.  And  yet  we  are  shamelessly  struggling  in  his 
sight,  like  mercenary  children,  for  the  patrimojiy,  around  the 
death-bed  of  a  common  parent,  by  whose  industry  and  exertion 
it  was  accumulated,  before  the  heart  of  him  who  gave  them 
existence  had  ceased  to  pulsate.  Amid  all  these  conflicts,  it  has 
been  my  policy  to  give  peace  and  stability  to  the  Union,  to 
silence  agitation,  to  restore  fraternal  relations  to  an  estranged 
brotherhood,  and  to  lend  my  feeble  aid  in  enabling  our  common 
cpuntry  to  march  onward  to  the  glorious  fruition  which  awaits 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Maine. 


DANIEL  S.  DICKINSON.  75 

her.  1  have  opposed,  and  will  hereafter  oppose,  the  monster 
disunion,  in  any  and  every  form,  and  howsoever  disguised,  or 
in  whatsoever  condition — whether  in  the  germ,  or  the  stately 
upas,  with  its  wide-spread  branches ;  whether  it  comes  from  the 
North  or  the  South,  or  the  East  or  the  West ;  and  whether  it 
consists  in  denying  the  South  her  just  rights,  or  in  her  demand- 
ing that  to  which  she  is  not  entitled.  The  union  of  these  states, 
in  the  true  spirit  of  the  constitution,  is  a  sentiment  of  my  life. 
It  was  the  dream  of  my  early  years  ;  it  has  been  the  pride  and 
joy  of  manhood ;  and,  if  it  shall  please  Heaven  to  spare  me  to 
age,  I  pray  that  its  abiding  beauty  may  beguile  my  vacant  and 
solitary  hours.  I  do  not  expect  a  sudden  disruption  of  the 
political  bonds  which  unite  the  states  of  this  confederacy  ;  but 
I  greatly  fear  a  growing  spirit  of  jealousy  and  discontent  and 
sectional  hate,  which  must,  if  permitted  to  extend  itself,  finally 
destroy  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  the  fabric,  if  it  does  not  raze 
it  to  its  foundation.  It  cannot  be  maintained  by  force,  and  majori- 
ties in'  a  confederacy  should  be  admonished  to  use  their  power 
justly.  Let  no  one  suppose  that  those  who  have  been  joined  to- 
gether will  remain  so,  despite  the  commission  of  mutual  wrongs, 
because  they  have  once  enjoyed  each  other's  confidence  and 
affection,  and  propriety  requires  them  to  remain  united.  A 
chafed  spirit,  whether  of  a  community  or  an  individual,  may  be 
goaded  beyond  endurance,  and  the  history  of  the  world  has 
proved  thai  the  season  of  desperation  which  succeeds  is  awfully 
reckless  of  consequences.  But  woe  be  to  him  by  whom  the 
offence  of  disunion  comes  !  He  will  be  held  accursed  when  the 
bloody  mandates  of  Herod  and  Nero  shall  be  forgiven ;  and  be 
regarded  as  a  greater  monster  in  this  world  than  he  who,  to  sig- 
nalize his  brutal  ferocity,  reared  a  monument  of  thousands  of 
human  skulls  ;  and,  in  the  next, 

"  The  common  damned  will  shun  his  society, 
And  look  upon  themselves  as  fiends  less  k»u1." 

Daniel  S.  Dickinson.* 


56.      A  DEFENCE  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Sir,  in  regard  to  the  denunciation  of  the  sentiment  of  my 
honorable  friend  from  Massachusetts,  I  have  something  to  say, 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  New  York. 


76  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

The  opinion  expressed  in  this  denunciation  is,  that  it  would  ht 
a  natural  and  easy  step  for  the  senator  from  Massachusetts  to 
take,  to  join  the  enemies  of  his  country  in  war  :  in  other  words, 
to  turn  traitor,  and  merit  by  his  treason  the  most  ignominious 
of  all  deaths,  with  an  immortality  of  infamy  beyond  the  grave  ! 
And  for  what  ?  The  senator  from  Massachusetts  had  expressed 
a  preference  for  the  constitution  to  the  capitol  of  his  country. 
He  had  dared  to  declare  that  he  prized  the  magna  charta  of 
American  liberty, — the  sacred  bond,  of  our  union,  the  tie  which 
binds  together  twelve  millions  of  freemen, — above  the  stones  and 
mortar  which  compose  the  crumbling  mass  within  whose  walls 
we  are  assembled.  "  The  very  head  and  front  of  his  offending 
hath  this  extent :  no  more."  No  man  here  has  questioned,  in  the 
most  violent  moments  of  party  excitement — not  amidst  the 
fiercest  of  all  political  strife — his  purity  of  purpose  in  debate. 
Grant  to  him,  what  all  others  who  have  any  title  to  the  char- 
acter of  gentlemen  demand  for  themselves,  that  he  believed 
what  he  said ;  grant  that,  in  his  judgment,  as  well  as  that  of 
many  here,  the  very  existence  of  our  liberties  is  involved  in  the 
surrender  of  the  principle  he  contended  for;  grant  that  the 
concentration  of  legislative  and  executive  power  in  the  hands  of 
a  single  man  is  the  death-blow  to  the  constitution,  and  that  the 
senator  was  right  in  considering  the  proposed  appropriation  as 
establishing  the  very  principle  which  gave  that  fatal  blow ; — 
and  who  is  he  that,  thus  believing,  would  support  that  proposi- 
tion, because  the  guns  of  the  enemy  were  battering  at  the  walls 
of  the  capitol  ?  Where  is  the  coward — where  is  the  traitor, 
who  would  not  rather  see  the  capitol  than  the  constitution  of 
his  country  in  ruins  ?  or  who  would  lend  himself  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  despotism  among  us,  with  a  view  to  save  this 
building  for  the  despot  to  revel  in  ?  Sir,  in  the  days  when 
Themistocles  led  the  Athenians  to  victory  at  Salamis,  he 
advised  them  to  surrender  their  capitol  for  the  preservation  of 
the  constitution  of  their  country.  That  gallant  people  rose 
under  the  impulse  of  patriotism  as  one  man,  and  with  a  stern 
resolution  to  yield  life  itself  rather  than  abandon  their  liberties, 
and  surrender  the  proud  privilege  of  legislating  for  themselves 
to  the  delegate  of  a  Persian  despot,  who  offered  them  "all 
their  own  dominions,  together  with  an  accession  of  territory 
ample  as  their  wishes,  upon  the  single  condition  that  they 
should  receive  law  and  suffer  him  to  preside  ih  Greece."  At 
that  eventful  period  of  their  history,  Crysilus  alone  proposed 
the  surrender  of  their  constitution  to  save  the  capitol ;  and 
they  stoned  him  to  death.     The  public  indignation  was  not  yet 


I 


JOHN  M.  CLAYTON. THOIMAS  COKWIN.  Y7 

satisfied ;  for  the  Athenian  matrons  then  rose  and  inflicted  the 
same  punishment  on  his  wife.  Leaving  their  capitol,  and  their 
noble  city,  rich  as  it  was  with  the  productions  of  every  art, 
and  ghttering  all  over  with  the  proudest  trophies  and  the  most 
splendid  temples  in  the  world ;  deserting,  in  the  cause  of  free 
government,  the  very  land  that  gave  them  birth,  they  embarked 
on  board  their  ships,  and  fought  that  battle,  the  name  of  which 
has  made  the  bosoms  of  freemen  to  thrill  with  sympathy  in  all 
the  ages  that  have  followed  it,  and  shall  cause  the  patriot's 
heart  to  beat  higher  with  emotion  through  countless  ages  to 
come. 

I  repeat,  sir,  what  no  man  who  knows  the  senator  from 
Massachusetts  has  ever  doubted,  that  he  was  sincere  in  declaring 
that  he  viewed  the  proposition  under  debate  as  involving  the 
surrender  of  the  most  valuable  trust  reposed  in  us  by  the  con- 
stitution to  a  single  man ;  and  as  one  which,  while  it  delegates 
the  legislative  power  to  the  executive,  establishes  a  precedent 
to  prostrate  the  constitution  forever.  I  do  not  feel,  however, 
that  his  conduct  needs  vindication  from  me  or  any  other ;  for, 
although  the  transient  spirit  of  party  may  have  sought  to 
obscure  his  exalted  character  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  easily 
led  by  misrepresentation  into  error,  honorable  fame  has  already 
encircled  his  temples  with  a  wreath  of  unfading  verdure,  and 
impartial  history  shall  hereafter  emphatically  designate  him, 
amidst  all. the  compatriots  of  his  day,  as  the  able,  the  eloquent, 
the  fearless  champion  and  defender  of  his  country's  constitution. 

John  M.  Clayton."* 


O/.      THE  WAR  WITH  MEXICO. 

Sir,  I  scarcely  understand  the  meaning  of  all  this  myself.  If 
we  are  to  vindicate  our  rights  by  battles,  in  bloody  fields  of 
war,  let  us  do  it.  If  that  is  not  the  plan,  why  then  let  us  call 
back  our  armies  into  our  own  territory,  and  propose  a  treaty 
with  Mexico,  based  upon  the  proposition  that  money  is  better 
for  her  and  land  is  better  for  us.  Thus  we  can  treat  Mexico 
like  an  equal,  and  do  honor  to  ourselves.  But  what  is  it  you 
ask  ?  You  have  taken  from  Mexico  one-fourth  of  her  territory, 
and  you  now  propose  to  run  a  line  comprehending  about  another 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Delaware. 


78  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

third,  and  for  what  ?  1  ask,  Mr.  President,  for  what  ?  What 
has  Mexico  got  from  you  for  parting  with  two-thirds  of  her  do- 
main ?  She  has  given  you  ample  redress  for  every  injury  of 
which  you  have  complained.  She  has  submitted  to  the  award 
of  your  commissioners,  and,  up  to  the  time  of  the  rupture  with 
Texas,  faithfully  paid  it.  And  for  all  that  she  has  lost  (not 
through  or  by  you,  but  which  loss  has  been  your  gain),  what 
requital  do  we,  her  strong,  rich,  robust  neighbor,  make  ?  Do 
we  send  our  missionaries  there,  "to  point  the  way  to  heaven ?" 
Or  do  we  send  the  schoolmasters  to  pour  daylight  into  her  dark 
places,  to  aid  her  infant  strength  to  conquer  freedom,  and  reap 
the  fruit  of  the  independence  herself  alone  had  won  ?  No,  no  ; 
none  of  this  do  we.  But  we  send  regiments,  storm  towns,  and 
our  colonels  prate  of  liberty  in  the  midst  of  the  solitudes  their 
ravages  have  made.  ,  They  proclaim  the  empty  forms  of  social 
compact  to  a  people  bleeding  and  maimed  with  wounds  received 
in  defending  their  hearth-stones  against  the  invasion  of  these 
very  men  who  shoot  them  down,  and  then  exhort  them  to  be 
free.  Your  chaplain  of  the  navy  throws  aside  the  New  Testa- 
ment and  seizes  a  bill  of  rights.  He  takes  military  possession 
of  some  town  in  California,  and  instead  of  teaching  the  plan  of 
the  atonement  and  the  way  of  salvation  to  the  poor,  ignorant 
Celt,  he  presents  Colt's  pistol  to  his  ear,  and  calls  on  him  to 
take  "  trial  by  jury  and  habeas  corpus,"  or  nine  bullets  in  his 
head.  Oh  !  Mr.  President,  are  you  not  the  lights  of  the  earth, 
if  not  its  salt  ? 

What  is  the  territory,  Mr.  President,  which  you  propose  to 
wrest  from  Mexico  ?  It  is  consecrated  to  the  heart  of  the  Mex- 
ican by  many  a  well-fought  battle  with  his  old  Castilian  mas- 
ter. His  Bunker  Hills,  and  Saratogas,  and  Yorktowns  are 
there  !  The  Mexican  can  say,  "  There  I  bled  for  liberty !  and 
shall  I  surrender  that  consecrated  home  of  my  affections  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  invaders  ?  What  do  they  want  with  it  ?  They 
have  Texas  already.  They  have  possessed  themselves  of  the 
territory  between  the  Nueces  and  the  Rio  Grande,  What  else 
do  they  want  ?  To  what  shall  I  point  my  children  as  memorials 
of  that  independence  which  I  bequeath  to  them,  when  those 
battle-fields  shall  have  passed  from  my  possession  ?" 

Sir,  had  one  come  and  demanded  Bunker  Hill  of  the  people 
of  Massachusetts — ^had  England's  lion  ever  showed  himself 
there,  is  there  a  man  over  thirteen  and  under  ninety  who  would 
not  have  been  ready  to  meet  him, — is  there  a  river  on  this  con- 
tinent that  would  not  have  run  red  with  blood, — is  there  a  field 
but  would  have  been  piled  high  with  the  unburied  bones  of 


THOMAS  COEWm. — JEFFEESON  DAVIS.  79 

siuugliterc'd  Americans,  before  these  consecrated  battle-fields  of 
liberty  should  have  been  wrested  from  us  ? 

Thomas  Coewin  * 


58.      THE  EXPLOITS  OF  GEN.  TAYLOR. 

Mr.  President,  this  whole  country  was  thrown  into  one  gen- 
eral burst  of  joy,  our  towns  were  illuminated  when  the  little 
army  on  the  Rio  Grande  repulsed,  beat  on  two  fields,  a  Mexican 
army  three  times  their  number,  advantageously  posted,  and 
fighting  with  obstinacy  proportionate  to  their  numerical  supe- 
riority ;  but  why  recount  it  ?  It  was  an  army,  according  to  the 
senator's  dictum,  which  could  have  been  held  in  check  by  two 
hundred  and  fifty  Texan  rangers.  Is  it  true,  sir,  that  those  sol- 
diers who  had  spent  their  lives  in  acquiring  their  profession, 
with  an  army  of  two  thousand  men,  than  which  none  was  ever 
more  favorably  composed  for  desperate  service,  old  soldiers  and 
young  leaders,  performed  only  what  two  hundred  and  fifty 
Texan  rangers  could  have  done  so  much  more  effectually  ? 
Shades  of  Ringgold,  Mcintosh,  Barbour,  Ridgely,  and  Duncan, 
and  thou,  the  hero  of  the  Mexican  war,  let  not  your  ashes  be 
disturbed  !  The  star  of  your  glory  will  never  be  obscured  by 
such  fogs  and  fleeting  clouds  as  that.  It  will  continue  to  shine 
brighter  and  brighter  as  long  as  professional  skill  is  appreciated, 
or  bravery  is  admired,  or  patriotism  has  a  shrine  in  the  Ameri- 
can heart. 

But,  sir,  it  was  not  alone  in  the  United  States  that  the  mih- 
tary  movements  and  achievements  on  the  Rio  Grande  were 
viewed  with  admiration.  The  greatest  captain  of  the  age,  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  the  moment  he  saw  the  positions  taken  and 
the  combinations  made  upon  the  Rio  Grande ;  the  moment  he 
saw  the  communication  opened  between  the  depot  at  Point  Isa- 
bel and  the  garrison  at  Fort  Brown,  by  that  masterly  movement 
of  which  the  battles  of  Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palma  were 
a  part,  exclaimed,  that  General  Taylor  is  a  general  indeed.  And 
yet,  sir,  all  history  is  to  be  rewritten,  all  the  rapture  and  pride 
of  the  country  at  the  achievements  upon  those  bloody  fields  are 
to  disappear,  and  the  light  of  science  to  pale  before  the  criticism 
of  that  senator,  by  whom  we  are  told  that  a  little  band  of 
mounted  riflemen  could  have  done  that  which  cost  so  many 
American  lives  and  hecatombs  of  Mexicans. 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Ohio. 


iiO  SELECTIONS  m  prose. 

1  have  spoken  thus  as  a  simple  duty,  not  from  any  unkindnest 
to  the  senator,  but  that  I  might  do  Justice  to  many  of  my 
comrades,  whose  dust  now  mingles  with  the  earth  upon  which 
they  fought, — that  I  might  not  leave  unredressed  the  wrongs  of 
the  buried  dead. 

.  I  have  endeavored  to  suppress  all  personal  feeling,  though 
the  character  of  the  attack  upon  my  friend  and  general  might 
liave  pardoned  its  indulgence.  It  is  true  that  sorrow  sharpens 
memory,  and  that  many  deeds  of  noblest  self-sacrifice,  many 
tender  associations,  rise  now  vividly  before  me. 

I  remember  the  purity  of  his  character,  his  vast  and  varied 
resources  ;  and  I  remember  how  the  good  and  great  qualities  of 
his  heart  were  equally  and  jointly  exhibited  when  he  took  the 
immense  responsibility  under  which  he  acted  at  the  battle  of 
Buena  Vista,  fought  after  he  had  been  recommended  by  his 
senior  general  to  retire  to  Monterey. 

Ai'ound  him  stood  those  whose  lives  were  in  his  charge,  whose 
mothers,  fathers,  wives,  and  children  would  look  to  him  for  their 
return  ;  those  were  there  who  had  shared  his  fortunes  on  other 
fields ;  some  who,  never  having  seen  a  battle,  were  eager  for 
the  combat,  without  knowing  how  direful  it  would  be ;  imme- 
diately about  him  those  loving  and  beloved,  and  reposing  such 
confidence  in  their  commander  that  they  but  waited  his  beck 
and  will  to  do  and  dare.  On  him,  and  on  him  alone,  rested  the 
responsibility.  It  was  in  his  power  to  avoid  it  by  retiring  to 
Monterey,  there  to  be  invested  and  captured,  and  then  justify 
himself  under  his  instructions.  He  would  not  do  it,  but  cast  all 
upon  the  die,  resolved  to  maintain  his  country's  honor,  and  save 
his  country's  flag  from  trailing  in  the  dust  of  the  enemy  he  had 
so  often  beaten,  or  close  the  conqueror's  career  as  became  the  sol- 
dier. His  purpose  never  wavered,  his  determination  never  fal- 
tered ;  his  country's  honor  to  be  untarnished,  his  country's  flag 
to  triumph,  or  for  himself  to  find  an  honorable  grave,  was  the 
only  alternative  he  considered.  Under  these  circumstances,  on 
the  morning  of  the  23d  of  February,  that  glorious  but  bloody 
conflict  commenced.  It  won  foa*  him  a  chaplet  that  it  would  be 
a  disgrace  for  an  American  to  mutilate,  and  which  it  were  an 
idle  attempt  to  adorn.  I  leave  it  to  a  grateful  country  which  is 
conscious  of  his  services,  and  possesses  a  discrimination  that  is 
not  to  be  confounded  by  the  assertions  of  any,  however  high 
their  position.  .toEKsex  D^ns.* 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Mississippi. 


STEPHEN  A.  DOUGLAS.  81 


59.      OBEDIENCE  TO  THE  CONSTITUTION. 

Our  forefathers  held  that  the  people  had  an  inherent  right  tc 
establish  such  constitution  and  laws  for  the  government  of  them- 
selves and  their  posterity,  as  they  should  deem  best  calculated 
to  insure  the  protection  of  life,  hberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happi- 
ness ;  and  that  the  same  might  be  altered  and  changed  as  expe- 
rience should  satisfy  them  to  be  necessary  and  proper.  Upon 
this  principle  the  constitution  of  the  United  States  was  formed, 
and  our  glorious  Union  established.  All  acts  of  congress  passed 
in  pursuance  of  the  constitution  are  declared  to  be  the  supreme 
laws  of  the  land,  and  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  is 
charged  with  expounding  the  same.  All  officers  and  magis- 
trates, under  the  federal  and  state  governments — executive, 
legislative,  judicial,  and  ministerial — are  required  to  take  an 
oath  to  support  the  constitution,  before  they  can  enter  upon 
the  performance  of  their  respective  duties.  Every  person  born 
under  the  constitution  owes  allegiance  to  it ;  and  every  natural- 
ized citizen  takes  an  oath  to  support  it.  Fidelity  to  the  consti- 
tution is  the  only  passport  to  the  enjoyment  of  rights  under  it. 
When  a  senator  elect  presents  his  credentials,  he  is  not  allowed 
to  take  his  seat  until  he  places  his  hand  upon  the  holy  evangel- 
ist, and  appeals  to  his  God  for  the  sincerity  of  his  vow  to  sup- 
port the  constitution.  He  who  does  this  with  a  mental  reser- 
vation or*  secret  intention  to  disregard  any  provision  of  the 
constitution,  commits  a  double  crime — is  morally  guilty  of  per- 
fidy to  his  God  and  treason  to  his  country ! 

If  the  constitution  of  the  United  States  is  to  be  repudiated 
upon  the  ground  that  it  is  repugnant  to  the  divine  law,  where 
are  the  friends  of  freedom  and  Christianity  to  look  for  another 
and  a  better  ?  Who  is  to  be  the  prophet  to  reveal  the  w411  of 
God  and  establish  a  theocracy  for  us  ? 

I  will  not  venture  to  inquire  what  are  to  be  the  form  and 
principles  of  the  new  government,  or  to  whom  is  to  be  intrusted 
the  execution  of  its  sacred  functions  ;  for,  when  we  decide  that 
the  wisdom  of  our  revolutionary  fathers  was  foolishness,  and 
their  piety  wickedness,  and  destroy  the  only  system  of  self- 
government  that  has  ever  realized  the  hopes  of  the  friends  oi 
freedom,  and  commanded  the  respect  of  mankind,  it  becomes  us 
to  wait  patiently  until  the  purposes  of  the  Latter  Day  Saint? 
shall  be  revealed*  unto  us. 

For  my  part,  I  am  prepared  to  maintain  and  preserve  invio- 
late the  constitution  as  it  is,  with  all  its  compromises,  to  stanc? 

4-* 


82  SELECTIONS  LN  PEOSE. 

or  fall  by  the  American  Union,  clinging  with  the  tenacity  of  life 
to  all  its  glorious  memories  of  the  past  and  precious  hopes  ot 

f'^^^^^^^e-  Stephen  A.  Douglas* 


60.      THE  DEATH  OF  O  CONNELL. 

There  is  sad  news  from  Genoa.  An  aged  and  weary  pil- 
grim, who  can  travel  no  further,  passes  beneath  the  gate  of  one 
of  her  ancient  palaces,  saying  with  pious  resignation  as  he  enters 
its  silent  chambers,  *'  Well,  it  is  God's  will  that  I  shall  never 
see  Rome.  I  am  disappointed.  But  I  am  ready  to  die.  It  is 
all  right."  The  superb  though  fading  queen  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean holds  anxious  watch,  througU  ten  long  days,  over  that 
majestic  stranger's  wasting  frame.  And  now  death  is  there — 
the  Liberator  of  Ireland  has  sunk  to  rest  in  the  Cradle  of  Co- 
lumbus. 

Coincidence  beautiful  and  most  sublime  !  It  was  the  very 
day  set  apart  by  the  elder  daughter  of  the  Church  for  prayer 
and  sacrifice  throughout  the  world,  for  the  children  of  the  sa- 
cred island,  perishing  by  famine  and  pestilence  in  their  homes 
and  in  their  native  fields,  and  on  their  crowded  paths  of  exile, 
on  the  sea  and  in  the  havens,  and  on  the  lakes,  and  along  the 
rivers  of  this  far  distant  land.  The  chimes  rung  out  by  pity  for 
his  countrymen  were  O'Connell's  fitting  knell ;  his  soul  went 
forth  on  clouds  of  incense  that  rose  from  altars  of  Christian 
charity  ;  and  the  mournful  anthems  which  recited  the  faith,  and 
the  virtue,  and  the  endurance  of  Ireland,  were  his  becoming 
requiem. 

It  is  a  holy  sight  to  see  the  obsequies  of  a  soldier,  not  only  of 
civil  liberty,  but  of  the  liberty  of  conscience — of  a  soldier,  not 
only  of  freedom,  but  of  the  Cross  of  Christ — of  a  benefactor,  not 
merely  of  a  race  of  people,  but  of  mankind.  The  vault  lighted 
by  suspended  worlds  is  the  temple  within  which  .the  great  so- 
lemnities are  celebrated.  The  nations  of  the  earth  are  mourn- 
ers ;  and  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect,  descending  from 
their  golden  thrones  on  high,  break  forth"  into  songs. 

Behold  now  a  nation  which  needeth  not  to  speak  its  melan- 
choly precedence.  The  lament  of  Ireland  comes  forth  from 
palaces  deserted,'  and  from  shrines  restored  ;  from  Boyne's  dark 
water,  witness  of  her  desolation,  and  from  Tar??s  lofty  hill,  ever 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  IlUnois. 


WILLIAM  H.  SEWiLRD. E.  A.  HANNEGAN.  83 

echoing  her  renown.  But  louder  and  deeper  yet  that  wailing 
comes  from  the  lonely  huts  on  mountain  and  on  moor,  where 
the  people  of  the  greenest  island  of  all  the  seas  are  expiring  in 
the  midst  of  insufficient  though  world-wide  charities.  Well  in- 
deed may  they  deplore  O'Connell,  for  they  were  his  children  ; 
and  he  bore  them 

"  A  love  so  vehement,  so  strong',  so  pure, 
That  neither  age  could  change  nor  art  could  cure." 

William  H.  Sewabd.* 


61.      THE  OREGON  TERRITORY. 

The  honorable  senatorf  has  arrayed  before  us  the  mighty  na- 
val power  of  England,  the  number  of  her  ships  of  war,  her  sail- 
ors, and  her  guns,  and  the  comparatively  diminutive  force  wo 
present.  If  that  senator  by  this  intended  to  awe  us  into  a  com- 
promise, by  the  surrender  of  our  own  territory,  it  was  certainly 
both  ill-timed  and  ill-planned  ;  that  would  have  better  become 
a  secret  session.  The  idea  of  surrendering  without  an  effort, 
because  of  the  numerical  superiority  of  the  enemy,  whether  in 
guns  or  men,  is  new  to  me  in  military  history.  I  admit  that  it 
is  right  and  proper  to  examine  the  force  of  Great  Britain,  but  at 
the  same  time  we  ought  not  to  forget  or  undervalue  our  own. 
The  American  people  cannot  be  alarmed ;  they  arc  not  to  be 
awed  by  any  such  representations. 

But  the  senator  of  South  Carolina];  is  wedded  to  a.  different 
plan — a  plan  which  avoids  all  action.  He  is  for  leaving  the 
whole  matter  to  the  silent,  quiet,  noiseless  operation  of  time,  and 
the  gradual  encroachments  of  our  hardy  and  enterprising  settlers, 
who  have  gone,  and  are  going,  into  the  territory. 

But  do  gentlemen  flatter  themselves  that  we  can  thus  take 
Oregon,  and  England  know  nothing  of  it  ?  Will  the  Enghsh  not 
understand  this  pohcy  as  well  as  we  ?  And  when  they  perceive 
the  plan  hkely  to  take  effect,  will  they  not  be  on  their  guard  ? 
If  we  press  our  population  upon  them,  will  they  not,  in  turn, 
press  their  pauper  population  upon  us  ?  Which  of  the  two 
plans  will  most  consult  the  honor  of  this  country  ?  Which  story 
shall  we  rather  have  on  record  as  a  heritage  to  our  posterity — 
the  plan  of  the  honorable  senator  to  get  the  territory  by  silent 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  New  York. 
+  Mr.  Clayton,  of  Delaware. 
i  Mr.  Calhoun. 


84  -  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

encroachment,  or  that  advocated  by  gentlemen  on  the  othei 
side,  who  are  for  demanding  the  territory  because  it  is  our&  ? 
Shall  we  take  it  openly  and  boldly,  by  a  straight-forward,  manly 
course  ? — or  shall  we  get  it  covertly,  slily,  stealthily  ?  No  !  1 
will  not  say  stealthily  ;  I  will  not  employ  any  term  that  may 
imply  the  slightest  disrespect  to  the  honorable  senator :  I  will 
not  say  stealthily,  but  I  will  say  eircuitously ;  yes,  that  is  the 
word — circuitously.  I  would  not  say  any  thing  that  could  be  a 
cause  of  offence  to  the  honorable  gentleman  from  South  Caro- 
lina. I  have  no  such  feelings  towards  him.  I  hold  that  honor- 
able senator  in  too  much  respect ;  I  have  too  much  esteem  and 
regard  for  him.  I  would  not,  for  the  world,  pluck  one  leal 
from  the  laurel  that  enwreathes  his  venerated  brow.  He  has 
ably  served  his  countiy  in  many  and  various  important  stations. 
I  hope  and  trust  he  will  do  nothing  that  shall  mar  the  page  in 
this  nation's  history  which  he  is  destined  to  fill.  I  respect  his 
acquisitions  ;  above  all,  I  venerate  his  virtues — the  spotless  pu- 
rity of  his  private  life.  But  the  senator's  course  is  circuitous  ; 
ours  is  direct.  Which,  I  ask,  will  do  most  honor  to  a  country  like 
this  ?  Which  will  read  the  best  ?  Sir,  how  will  it  read  alongside 
of  the  history  of  "76  ?  Then  the  whole  population  of  a  range  of 
Atlantic  colonies,  sooner  than  submit  to  the  exaction  of  a  slight 
tax,  took  up  arms,  and  went  into  the  appeal  of  battle.  They  stood 
for  their  rights  in  many  a  bloody  field  ;  and  they  conquered 
those  rights  from  the  mightiest  and  the  haughtiest  power  the 
world  ever  saw.  Such  was  the  first  chapter  of  our  history,  read 
and  studied  by  the  nations  of  the  Old  World.  But  what  is  to 
be  the  second  chapter  ?  At  first  we  had  but  three  millions  of 
people  ;  now  we  have  twenty  millions.  Our  wealth,  our  power, 
our  energy,  have  increased  in  more  than  a  like  proportion.  And 
now  the  same  old  enemy  claims  a  great  empire  on  our  western 
coast ;  and  th3  descendants  of  the  same  people  resolve,  sooner 
than  resist,  to  surrender  their  rights,  and  let  her  take  it.  I  trust 
no  such  chapter  is  to  be  written  in  our  history. 

Mr.  President,  I  have  but  uttered  the  rights  of  my  country ; 
and  by  their  side  I  plant  myself,  ready  to  abide  the  issue — come 
peace,  come  war.  ^  ^  Hanxeo.^.» 

*  U.  8.  Senator  from  Indiana. 


KUFUS  CHOATE.  85 


62,      THE  HEROISM  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 

If  one  were  called  on  to  select  the  most  glittering  of  the  iii- 
'Btances  of  military  heroism  to  which  the  admiration  of  the 
world  has  been  most  constantly  attracted,  he  would  make 
choice,  I  imagine,  of  the  instance  of  that  desperate  valor,  in 
which,  in  obedience  to  the  laws,  Leonidas  and  his  three  hun- 
dred Spartans  cast  themselves  headlong,  at  the  passes  of  Greece, 
on  the  myriads  of  their  Persian  invaders.  From  the  simple 
page  of  Herodotus,  longer  than  from  the  Amphyctionic  monu- 
ment, or  the  games  of  the  commemoration,  that  act  speaks  still 
to  the  tears  and  praise  of  all  the  world. 

Judge  if,  that  night,  as  they  watched  the  dawn  of  the  last 
morning  their  eyes  could  ever  see ;  as  they  heard  with  every 
passing  hour  the  stilly  hum  of  the  invading  host,  his  dusky 
lines  stretched  out  without  end,  and  now  almost  encircling 
them  around  :  as  they  remembered  their  unprofaned  home, 
city  of  heroes  and  of  the  mothers  of  heroes, — ^judge  if,  watch- 
ing there,  in  the  gate-way  of  Greece,  this  sentiment  did  not 
grow  to  the  nature  of  madness,  if  it  did  not  run  in  torrents  of 
literal  fire  to  and  from  the  laboring  heart ;  and  when  morning 
came  and  passed,  and  they  had  dressed  their  long  locks  for 
battle,  and  when,  at  a  little  after  noon,  the  countless  invading 
throng  was  seen  at  last  to  move,  was  it  not  with  a  rapture,  as 
if  all  the  jby,  all  the  sensation  of  life  was  in  that  one  moment, 
that  they  cast  themselves,  with  the  fierce  gladness  of  mountain- 
torrents,  headlong  on  that  brief  revelry  of  glory  ? 

I  acknoAvledge  the  splendor  of  that  transaction  in  all  ita 
aspects.  I  admit  its  morality,  too,  and  its  useful  inflf^ence  on 
every  Grecian  heart,  in  that  greatest  crisis  of.  Greece. 

And  yet,  do  you  not  think,  that  whoso  could,  by  adequate 
description,  bring  before  you  that  winter  of  the  Pilgrims, — its 
brief  sunshine  ;  the  nights  of  storm,  slow  waning ;  the  damp 
and  icy  breath,  felt  to  the  pillow  of  the  dying ;  its  destitutions, 
its  contrasts  with  all  their  former  experience  in  life;  its  utter 
insulation  and  loneliness ;  its  death-beds  and  burials ;  its  mem- 
ories ;  its  apprehensions ;  its  hopes  ;  the  consultations  of  the  pru- 
dent; the  prayers  of  the  pious;  the  occasional  cheerful  hymn, 
in  which  the  strong  heart  threw  off  its  burden,  and,  asserting 
its  unvanquished  nature,  went  up,  like  a  bird  of  dawn,  to  the 
skies ; — do  ye  not  think  that  whoso  could  describe  them  calmly 
waiting  in  tliat  defile,  lonelier  and  darker  than  Thermopylae,  for 
a  morning  that  might  never  dawn,  or  might  show  them,  when 


36  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

it  did,  a  miglitier  arm  than  the  Persian,  raised  as  in  act  to  strike, 
would  he  not  sketch  a  scene  of  more  difficult  and  rarer  hero- 
•sm?  A  scene,  as  Wordsworth  has  said,  "melancholy,  yea, 
Jismal,  yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy ;"  a  scene,  even  better 
fitted  to  succor,  to  exalt,  to  lead  the  forlorn  hopes  of  all  great 
causes,  till  time  shall  be  no  more ! 

I  have  said  that  I  deemed  it  a  great  thing  for  a  nation,  in  all 
the  periods  of  its  fortunes,  to  be  able  to  look  back  to  a  race  of 
founders,  and  a  principle  of  institution,  in  which  it  might  ration- 
ally admire  the  realized  idea  of  true  heroism.  That  felicity, 
that  pride,  that  help,  is  ours.  Our  past,  with  its  great  erd^s, 
that  of  settlement,  and  that  of  independence,  should  announce, 
should  compel,  should  spontaneously  evolve  as  from  a  germ,  a 
wise,  moral,  and  glowing  future.  Those  heroic  men  and  women 
should  not  look  down  on  a  dwindled  posterity.  That  broad 
foundation,  sunk  below  frost  or  earthquake,  should  bear  up 
something  more  permanent  than  an  encampment  of  tents, 
pitched  at  random,  and  struck  when  the  trumpet  of  march 
sounds  at  next  daybreak.  It  should  bear  up,  as  by  a  natural 
growth,  a  structure  in  which  generations  may  come,  one  after 
another,  to  the  great  gift  of  the  Social  Life. 

RuFus  Choate.* 


63.      POPULAR  EXCITEMENT  IN  ELECTIONS. 

Sir,  I  not  only  maintain  that  the  people  are  exempt  from  the 
charge  of  violence,  but  that  there  is  a  tendency  to  carry  the 
feeling  of  indiff'erence  to  public  afiairs  to  a  dangerous  extreme. 
From  the  peculiar  structure  and  commercial  spirit  of  modern 
society,  and  the  facilities  presented,  in  our  country,  for  the  ac- 
quisition of  wealth,  the  eager  pursuit  of  gain  predominates  over 
our  concern  for  the  afiairs  of  the  Republic.  This  is,  perhaps, 
our  national  foible.  Wealth  is  the  object  of  ou^:  idolatry,  and 
even  liberty  is  worshipped  in  the  form  of  property.  Although 
this  spirit,  by  stimulating  industry,  is  unquestionably  excellent 
in  itself,  yet  it  is  to  be  apprehended  that,  in  a  period  of  peace 
and  tranquillity,  it  will  become  too  strong  for  patriotism,  and 
produce  the  greatest  of  national  evils — popular  apathy. 

We  have  been  frequently  told,  that  the  farmer  should  attend 
to  his  plough,  and  the  mechanic  to  his  handicraft,  during  the 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Massachusetts. 


GEOKGE  McDUFFIE.  87 

canvass  for  the  Presidency.  Sir,  a  more  danorerous  doctrine 
could  not  be  inculcated.  If  there  is  any  spectacle  from  the  con- 
templation of  which  I  would  shrink  with  peculiar  horror,  it 
would  be  that  of  the  great  mass  of  the  American  people  sunk 
into  a  profound  apathy  on  the  subject  of  their  highest  political 
interests.  Such  a  spectacle  would  be  more  portentous  to  the 
eye  of  intelligent  patriotism,  than  all  the  monsters  of  the  earth, 
and  fiery  signs  of  the  heavens,  to  the  eye  of  trembhng  supersti- 
tion. If  the  people  could  be  indififerent  to  the  fate  of  a  contest 
for  the  Presidency,  they  would  be  unworthy  of  freedom.  If  I 
were  to  perceive  them  sinking  into  this  apathy,  I  would  even 
apply  the  power  of  political  galvanism,  if  such  a  power  could  be 
found,  to  rouse  them  from  their  fatal  lethargy.  Keep  the  peo- 
ple quiet !  Peace !  peace  !  Such  are  the  whispers  by  which  the 
people  are  to  be  lulled  to  sleep,  in  the  very  crisis  of  their  high- 
est concerns.  Sir,  *'  you  make  a  solitude,  and  call  it  peace !" 
Peace  ?  'Tis  death !  Take  away  all  interest  from  the  people,  in 
the  election  of  their  Chief  Ruler,  and  liberty  is  no  more.  What, 
sir,  is  to  be  the  consequence  ?  If  the  people  do  not  elect  the 
President,  some  body  must.  There  is  no  special  providence  to 
decide  the  question.  Who,  then,  is  to  make  the  election,  and 
how  will  it  operate  ?  You  throw  a  general  paralysis  over  the 
body  politic,  and  excite  a  morbid  action  in  particular  members. 
The  general  patriotic  excitement  of  the  people,  in  relation  to  the 
election  of  the  President,  is  as  essential  to  the  health  and  energy 
of  the  political  system,  as  circulation  of  the  blood  is  to  the  health 
and  energy  of  the  natural  body.  Check  that  circulation,  and 
you  inevitably  produce  local  inflammation,  gangrene,  and  ulti- 
mately death.  Make  the  people  indifferent,  destroy  their 
legitimate  influence,  and  you  communicate  a  morbid  violence  to 
the  eff'orts  of  those  who  are  ever  ready  to  assume  the  control  of 
such  afiairs — the  mercenary  intriguers  and  interested  office- 
hunters  of  the  country.  Tell  me  not,  sir,  of  popular  violence ! 
Show  me  a  hundred  political  factionists — men  who  look  to  the 
election  of  a  President  as  the  means  of  gratifying  their  high  or 
their  low  ambition — and  I  will  show  you  the  very  materials  for 
a  mob,  ready  for  any  desperate  adventure  connected  with  their 
common  fortunes.  The  reason  of  this  extraordinary  excitement 
is  obvious.  It  is  a  matter  of  self-interest,  of  personal  ambition. 
The  people  can  have  no  such  motives.  They  look  only  to  the 
interest  and  glory  of  the  country.  ^^^^^^  McDuffie.* 

*  U.  S.  Representative  from  South  Carolina. 


88  SELECHOKS  LN  PEOSE. 


64.      THE  DESTINY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

Sir,  is  not  the  language  of  Berkley  in  the  progress  of  fulfil- 
ment, when  he  wrote  that  immortal  line — 

"  Westward  the  star  of  empire  takes  its  way  ?" 

When  Oregon  shall  be  in  our  possession,  when  we  shall  hav( 
established  a  profitable  trade  with  China  through  her  ports, 
when  our  ships  traverse  the  Pacific  as  they  now  cross  the 
Atlantic,  and  all  the  countless  consequences  of  such  a  state  of 
things  begin  to  flow  in  upon  us,  then  will  be  fulfilled  that 
vision  which  rapt  and  filled  the  mind  of  Nunez  as  he  gazed  over 
the  placid  waves  of  the  Pacific. 

I  will  now  address  myself  for  a  moment  to  the  moral  aspect 
of  this  great  question.  Gentlemen  have  talked  much  and 
eloquently  about  the  horrors  of  war.  I  should  regret  the 
necessity  of  a  war ;  I  should  deplore  its  dreadful  scenes ;  but  if 
the  possession  of  Oregon  gives  us  a  territory  opening  upon  the 
nation  prospects  such  as  I  describe,  and  if,  for  the  simple 
exercise  of  our  rights  in  regard  to  it.  Great  Britain  should  wage 
war  upon  us — an  unjust  war — the  regret  which  every  one  must 
feel  will,  at  least,  have  much  to  counterbalance  it.  One  ol 
England's  own  writers  has  said  :  "  The  possible  destiny  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  as  a  nation  of  one  hundred  millions 
of  freemen,  stretching  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  living 
under  the  laws  of  Alfred,  and  speaking  the  language  of  Shaks- 
peare  and  Milton,  is  an  august  conception." 

It  is  an  august  conception,  finely  embodied  ;  and  I  trust  in 
God  that  it  will,  at  no  distant  time,  become  a  reality.  I  trust 
that  the  world  will  see,  through  all  time,  our  people  living,  not 
only  under  the  laws  of  Alfred,  but  that  they  will  be  heard  to 
speak  throughout  our  wide- spread  borders  the  language  ot 
Shakspeare  and  Milton.  Above  all  is  it  my  prayer  that,  as 
long  as  our  posterity  shall  continue  to  inhabit  these  mountains 
and  plains,  and  hills  and  valleys,  they  may  be  found  living 
under  the  sacred  institutions  of  Christianity.  Put  these  things 
together,  and  what  a  picture  do  they  present  to  the  mental  eye ! 
Civilization  and  intelligence  started  in  the  East ;  they  have 
travelled,  and  are  still  travelling,  westward ;  but  when  they 
shall  have  completed  the  circuit  of  the  earth,  and  reached  the 
extremest  vei-gc  of  the  Pacific  shores,  then,  unlike  the  fabled 
god  of  the  ancients,  who  dipped  his  glowing  axle  in  the  western 
w.ive,  they  will  take  up  their  permanent  abode  ;  then  shall  wo 


HEOTiY  W.  IIILLTAKD. S.  S.  PRENTISS.  89 

enjoy  the  sablime  destiny  of  returning  these  blessings  t^  their 
ancient  seat ;  then  will  it  be  ours  to  give  the  priceless  benefits 
of  our  free  institutions,  and  the  pure  and  healthful  light  of  the 
gospel,  back  to  the  dark  family  which  has  so  long  lost  both 
truth  and  freedom ;  then  may  Christianity  plant  herself  there, 
and  while  with  one  hand  she  points  to  the  Polynesian  isles, 
rejoicing  in  the  late-recovered  treasure  of  revealed  truth,  with 
the  other  present  the  Bible  to  the  Chinese.  It  is  our  duty  to 
aid  in  this  great  work.  I  trust  we  shall  esteem  it  as  much  out 
honor  as  our  duty.  Let  us  not,  like  some  of  the  British  mis- 
sionaries, give  them  the  Bible  in  one  hand  and  opium  in  the 
other,  but  bless  them  only  with  the  pure  word  of  truth.  I 
hope  the  day  is  not  distant — soon,  soon  may  its  dawn  arise- 
to  shed  upon  the  farthest  and  the  most  benighted  of  nations  the 
splendor  of  more  than  a  tropical  sun.  ^^^^^  ^^  Hilliard.* 


65.      THE    FAMINE    IN    IRELAND. 

There  lies  upon  the  other  side  of  the  wide  Atlantic  a  beautiful 
island,  famous  in  story  and  in  song.  It  has  given  to  the  world 
more  than  its  share  of  genius  and  of  greatness.  It  has  been 
prolific  in  statesmen,  warriors,  and  poets.  Its  brave  and  gener- 
ous sons  have  fought  successfully  in  all  battles  but  its  own.  In 
wit  and  humor  it  has  no  equal;  while  its  harp,  like  its  history, 
moves  to  tears  by  its  sweet  but  melancholy  pathos.  In  this  fair 
region  God  has  seen  fit  to  send  the  most  terrible  of  all  those 
fearful  ministers  who  fulfil  his  inscrutable  decrees.  The  earth 
has  failed  to  give  her  increase ;  the  common  mother  has  forgotten 
her  offspring,  and  her  breast  no  longer  affords  them  their  accus- 
tomed nourishment.  Famine,  gaunt  and  ghastly  famine,  has 
seized  a  nation  with  its  strangling  grasp  ;  and  unhappy  Ireland, 
in  the  sad  woes  of  the  .present,  forgets,  for  a  moment,  the  gloomy 
history  of  the  past. 

In  battle,  in  the  fulness  of  his  pride  and  strength,  little  recks 
the  soldier  Avhether  the  hissing  bullet  sing  his  sudden  requiem, 
or  the  cords  of  life  are  severed  by  the  sharp  steel.  But  he  who 
dies  of  hunger,  wrestles  alone,  day  after  day,  with  his  grim  and 
unrelenting  enemy.  He  has  no  friends  to  cheer  him  in  the  ter- 
rible conflict ;  for  if  he  had  friends  how  could  he  die  of  hunger  ? 

*  U.  S.  Eeprcscntative  from  Alabama. 


90  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSE. 

He  has,  not  the  hot  blood  of  the  soldier  to  maintain  him ;  for  his 
foe,  vampire-like,  has  exhausted  his  veins. 

Who  will  hesitate  to  give  his  mite,  to  avert  such  awful  results  ? 
Give,  then,  generously  and  freely.  Recollect,  that  in  so  doing, 
you  are  exercising  one  of  the  most  godlike  quahties  of  your  na- 
ture, and  at  the  same  time  enjoying  one  of  the  greatest  luxuries 
of  life.  We  ought  to  thank  our  Maker  that  he  has  permitted 
us  to  exercise  equally  with  himself  that  noblest  of  even  the 
Divine  attributes,  benevolence.  Go  home  and  look  at  your 
family,  smiling  in  rosy  health,  and  then  think  of  the  pale,  fam- 
ine-pinched cheeks  of  the  poor  children  of  Ireland ;  and  you  will 
give,  according  to  your  store,  even  as  a  bountiful  Providence  has 
given  to  you — ^not  grudgingly,  but  with  an  open  hand ;  for  the 
quality  of  benevolence,  like  that  of  mercy, 

"  Is  not  strained ; 
It  droppeth-like  tlie  gentle  rain  from  Heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneath.    It  is  twice  blessed : 
It  blesses  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes." 

S.  S.  Prentisb.* 


66.      REPUBLICS. 

The  name  of  Republic  is  inscribed  upon  the  most  imperish-; 
able  monuments  of  the  species,  and  it  is  probable  that  it  will 
continue  to  be  associated,  as  it  has  been  in  all  past  ages,  with 
whatever  is  heroic  in  character,  and  sublime  in  genius,  and  ele- 
gant and  brilliant  in  the  cultivation  of  arts  and  letters.  It  would 
not  be  difficult  to  prove  that  the  base  hirelings  who  have  so  in- 
dustriously inculcated  a  contrary  doctrine,  have  jeen  compelled 
to  falsify  history  and  abuse  reason. 

It  might  be  asked,  triumphantly,  what  land  has  ever  been 
visited  with  the  influences  of  hberty,  that  has  not  flourished  hke 
the  spring  ?  What  people  has  ever  worshipped  at  her  altars 
without  kindhng  with  a  loftier  spirit  and  putting  forth  more 
noble  energies  ?  Where  has  she  ever  acted  that  her  deeds  have 
not  been  heroic  ?  Where  has  she  ever  spoken,  that  her  elo- 
quence has  not  been  triumphant  and  sublime  ? 

With  respect  to  ourselves,  would  it  not  be  enough  to  say  that 
we  live  under  a  form  of  government  and  in  a  state  of  society  to 
which  the  world  has  never  yet  exhibited  a  parallel  ?  Is  it  then 
nothing  to  be  free  ?     How  many  nations,  in  the  whole  annals  ol 

Kepresentative  from  Mississippi. 


HUGH  S.  LEGAEA. — EGBERT  C.  WrNTimOP.  91 

human  kind,  have  proved  themselves  worthy  of  being  so  ?  Is 
it  nothing  that  we  are  repubhcans  ?  Were  all  men  as  enlight- 
ened, as  brave,  as  proud  as  they  ought  to  be,  would  they  suffer 
themselves  to  be  insulted  with  any  other  title  ?  Is  it  nothing, 
that  so  many  independent  sovereignties  should  be  held  together 
in  such  a  confederacy  as  ours  ?  What  does  history  teach  us  of 
the  difficulty  of  instituting  and  maintaining  such  a  polity,  and 
of  the  glory  that,  of  consequence,  ought  to  be  given  to  those 
who  enjoy  its  advantages  in  so  much  perfection  and  on  so  grand 
a  scale  ?  For,  can  any  thing  be  more  striking  and  sublime,  than 
the  idea  of  an  imperial  republic,  spreading  over  an  extent  of 
territory  more  immense  than  the  empire  of  the  Ccesars,  in  the 
accumulated  conquests  of  a  thousand  years— without  praefects 
or  proconsuls  or  publicans — founded  in  the  maxims  of  common 
sense — employing  within  itself  no  arms,  but  those  of  reason — 
and  known  to  its  subjects  only  by  the  blessings  it  bestows  or 
perpetuates,  yet  capable  of  directing,  against  a  foreign  foe,  all 
the  energies  of  a  mihtary  despotism, — a  republic,  in  which  men 
are  completely  insignificant,  and  principles  and  laws  exercise, 
throughout  its  vast  dominion,  a  peaceful  and  irresistible  sway, 
blending  in  one  divine  harmony  such  various  habits  and  conflict- 
ing opinions,  and  mingling  in  our  institutions  the  light  of  phi- 
losophy with  all  that  is  dazzling  in  the  associations  of  heroic 
achievement  and  extended  domination,  and  deep-seated  and  for- 
midable power !  Hugh  S.  Legare  * 


67.      A  MONUMENT  TO  WASHINGTON. 

Fellow-citizens,  let  us  seize  this  occasion  to  renew  to  each 
other  our  vows  of  allegiance  and  devotion  to  the  American 
Union,  and  let  us  recognize  in  our  common  title  to  the  name 
and  the  fame  of  Washington,  and  in  our  common  veneration 
for  his  example  and  his  advice,  the  all-sufficient  centripetal 
power,  which  shall  hold  the  thick  clustering  stars  of  our  con- 
federacy in  one  glorious  constellation  forever !  Let  the  column 
which  we  are  about  to  construct  be  at  once  a  pledge  and  an 
emblem  of  perpetual  union  !  Let  the  foundations  be  laid ;  let 
the  superstructure  be  built  up  and  cemented ;  let  each  stone  be 
raised  and  riveted,  in  a  spirit  of  national  brotherhood!     And 

*  U.  S.  licprebentativc  from  South  Curoliua. 


92  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

may  the  earliest  ray  of  the  rising  sun — till  that  sun  shall  set  to 
rise  no  more — draw  forth  from  it  daily,  as  from  the  fabled 
statue  of  antiquity,  a  strain  of  national  harmony,  which  shall 
strike  a  responsive  chord  in  every  heart  throughout  the  republic  ! 

Proceed,  then,  fellow-citizens,  with  the  work  for  which  you 
have  assembled.  Lay  the  corner-stone  of  a  monument  which 
shall  adequately  bespeak  the  gratitude  of  the  whole  American 
people  to  the  illustrious  father  of  his  country.  Build  it  to  the 
skies  :  you  cannot  outreach  the  loftiness  of  his  principles. 
Found  it  upon  the  massive  and  eternal  rock  :  you  cannot  make 
it  more  enduring  than  his  fame.  Construct  it  of  the  peerless 
Parian  marble  :  you  cannot  make  it  purer  than  his  life.  Exhaust 
upon  it  the  rules  and  principles  of  ancient  and  of  modern  art : 
you  cannot  make  it  more  proportionate  than  his  character. 

But  let  not  your  homage  to  his  memory  end  here.  Think 
not  to  transfer  to  a  tablet  or  a  column  the  tribute  which  is  due 
from  yourselves.  Just  honor  to  Washington  can  only  be  ren- 
dered by  observing  his  precepts  and  imitating  his  example. 
Similitudine  decoremus.  He  has  built  his  own  monument. 
We,  and  those  who  come  after  us,  in  successive  generations,  are 
its  appointed,  its  privileged  guardians.  This  wide-spread 
republic  is  the  future  monument  to  Washington.  Maintain  its 
independence.  Uphold  its  constitution.  Preserve  its  union. 
Defend  its  liberty.  Let  it  stand  before  the  world  in  all  its 
original  strength  and  beauty,  securing  peace,  order,  equality, 
and  freedom  to  all  within  its  boundaries,  and  shedding  light  and 
hope  and  joy  upon  the  pathway  of  human  liberty  throughout 
the  world, — and  Washington  needs  no  other  monument.  Other 
structures  may  fully  testify  our  veneration  for  him  :  this,  this 
alone  can  adequately  illustrate  his  services  to  mankind. 

Nor  does  he  need  even  this.  The  republic  may  perish  .:  the 
wide  arch  of  our  ranged  union  may  fall ;  star  by  star  its  glories 
may  expire  ;  stone  by  stone  its  columns  and  its  capitol  may 
moulder  and  crumble  ;  all  other  names  which  adorn  its  annals 
may  be  forgotten  ;  but  as  long  as  human  hearts  shall  anywhere 
pant,  or  human  tongues  shall  anywhere  plead,  for  a  true,  rational, 
constitutional  liberty,  those  hearts  shall  enshrine  the  memory, 
and  those  tongues  shall  prolong  the  fame,  of  George  Washington. 

Egbert  C.  Winthrop.* 

*  U.  S.  Kopresentative  from  Massachusetts. 


ANDEEW  STEWART.  93 


(38.      THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  UNION. 

The  gentleman  from  South  Carolina*  lias  painted,  in  the 
most  glowing  colors  and  fascinating  forms,  the  glorious  advan- 
tages to  the  South  of  a  dissolution  of  this  Union.  But  is 
there  not  another  side  to  this  picture  ? — and  to  this  I  beg  the 
gentlemen  to  turn  their  calm  and  dispassionate  attention.  Before 
they  take  this  fearful  plunge,  let  them  look  over  the  precipice 
on  which  they  stand  into  the  yawning  gulf  beneath.  On  the 
other  side  of  this  picture  is  written,  in  flaming  capitals — 
treason ;  rebellion  ;  civil  war,  with  all  its  fearful  consequences. 
Let  it  be  remembered,  that  no  state  can  go  out  of  this  Union 
until  it  has  conquered  all  the  rest.  When  one  state  is  gone, 
no  two  remain  united.  We  have  heard  of  the  benefits  of 
destroying  tj\is  Union ;  but  what  will  be  its  cost  to  those  who 
may  attempt  it  ?  From  imaginary  ills,  they  fly  to  "  others 
that  they  know  not  of." 

They  now  complain  of  taxation!  But  what  will  be  the 
taxation  necessary  to  raise  and  sustain  armies  and  navies  to 
contend  against  this  government  ? — a  government  which  now, 
with  fond  and  parental  affection,  guards  and  protects  the  South. 
But  taxation  would  be  the  smallest  item  in  the  frightful  cata- 
logue of  their  calamities.  There  is  still  another  leaf  in  this 
book,  to  which  gentlemen  should  look.  And  can  they  behold 
it  with  indifference  ?  It  is  the  page  on  which  posterity  will 
write  the  epitaph  of  the  authors  of  the  destruction  of  this 
happy  and  glorious  Union  ;  of  those  who  should  involve  us  in 
all  the  horrors  of  civil  war  ;  who  should  arm  father  against  son, 
and  brother  against  brother ;  who  should  destroy  this  bright 
and  glorious  example — the  only  free  government  on  earth. 

How  deep  and  how  loud  would  be  their  denunciations,  how 
bitter  and  how  blasting  would  be  the  curses,  with  which  pos- 
terity would  brand  the  memories  of  those  men  !  And  will  not 
their  sentence  be  just  ?  Where  will  they  look  for  extenuation 
or  excuse  ?  Taxation  ! — it  is  imaginary  ;  not  real.  All  contri- 
butions here  are  voluntary ;  not  compulsory.  No  people  under 
heaven  are  half  so  lightly  taxed,  or  half  so  highly  blessed. 
In  other  countries,  the  people  are  taxed  twenty  times  the 
amount,  to  support  despots ;  imposed,  not  by  themselves,  but 
by  arbitrary  power.  Compared  with  this  country,  in  England 
taxation  is  as  eighteen  to  one ;  yet  they  submit,  and  we  rebel 

*  Mr.  McDuffie.       ' 


94r  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

Will  not  the  people  of  the  South  look  at  these  facts,  and  pause 
before  they  do  the  fatal  deed  that  must  seal  forever  their  own 
destruction  ?  In  this  Union,  the  gentleman  from  South  Carolina 
has  every  thing  to  hope :  his  name  may  go  down  to  posterity 
among  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  age  :  his  talents 
may  adorn  its  highest  offices,  to  which  he  has  a  just  right  to 
aspire  ;  and  much  as  I  may  differ  with  that  gentleman,  both  as 
to  men  and  measures,  yet  such  is  my  opinion  of  his  talents  and 
his  worth,  that  I  would  rejoice  to  see  him  at  this  moment 
filling  the  highest  of  the  executive  departments  of  this  govern- 
ment, or  the  highest  of  its  diplomatic  stations.  That  gentleman 
may  be  carried  away  by  momentary  excitement ;  still  I  cannot 
doubt  his  attachment  to  this  Union,  which  I  trust  he  will  never 
sacrifice  to  imaginary  evils.  The  blessings  of  this  government, 
and  the  value  of  this  Union,  I  have  never  heard  so  forcibly 
urged,  or  so  eloquently  portrayed,  as  by  the  gentleman  from 
South  Carolina  himself;  and  I  cannot,  in  conclusion,  better 
express  my  own  feelings  than  by  repeating  the  very  words 
uttered  by  that  gentleman  in  concluding  an  able  and  eloquent 
speech  on  another  occasion,  when  he  said — "  The  liberty  of  this 
country  is  a  sacred  depository — a  vestal  fire,  which  Providence 
has  committed  to  our  hands  for  the  general  benefit  of  mankind. 
It  is  the  world's  last  hope  :  extinguish  it,  and  the  earth  will  be 
covered  with  eternal  darkness ;  but  once  *  put  out  that  light,  I 
know  not  where  is  that  Promethean  heat  that  shall  that  light 
relume.'  " 

I  appeal  to  the  gentleman — I  ask  him,  is  he  prepared  to 
destroy  that  "  sacred  depository,"  the  Union  and  liberties  of  his 
country  ?  Is  he  prepared  to  extinguish,  in  fraternal  blood,  that 
"vestal  fire  committed  to  his  hands  by  Providence,  for  the 
benefit  of  mankind  ?"  Is  he  prepared  to  destroy  "  the  world's 
last  hope ;"  to  put  out  and  extinguish  forever  that  gr<3at  and 
glorious  light  of  liberty  and  union  now  blazing  up  to  the 
heavens,  illumining  the  path  and  cheering  the  onward  march  of 
the  friends  of  freedom  throughout  the  world,  and  thus  to  cover 
the  earth  with  eternal  dai'kness  ?  Is  he  prepared  for  this  1 
I  pause  for  a  reply.  j^^^^^  Stewart.» 


U.  S.  Kepresentative  from  Pennsylvania. 


TRISTAJ^I  EUliGES.  95 


69.      FREE  DISCUSSION. 

Sir,  admit — for  we  must  admit — that  free  discussion  has 
ever  been  odious  to  the  tyrant,  and  to  all  the  minions  of  licen- 
tious power ;  but  can  we  ever  forget  how  eloquent,  how  enchant- 
ing the  voice  of  that  same  freedom  of  speech  has,  in  all  ages, 
been,  wherever  its  tones  have  fallen  on  the  ear  of  freemen  ? 

Free  discussion,  and  liberty  itself,  eloquence  and  freedom  of 
speech,  are  contemporaneous  fires,  and  brighten  and  blaze,  or 
languish  and  go  out,  together.  Athenian  liberty  was,  for  years, 
protracted  by  that  free  discussion,  which  was  sustained  and 
continued  in  Athens.  Freedom  was  prolonged  by  eloquence. 
Liberty  paused  and  lingered,  that  she  might  listen  to  the  divine 
intonations  of  her  voice.  Free  discussion,  the  eloquence  of  one 
man,  rolled^  back  the  tide  of  Macedonian  power,  and  long  pre- 
served his  country  from  the  overwhelming  deluge. 

When  the  light  of  free  discussion  had,  throughout  all  the 
Grecian  cities,  been  extinguished  in  the  blood  of  those  states- 
men by  whose  eloquence  it  had  been  sustained,  young  Tully, 
breathing  the  spirit  of  Roman  hberty  on  the  expiring  embers, 
relumed  and  transmitted,  from  the  banks  of  the  llissus  to  those 
of  the  Tiber,  this  glorious  light  of  freedom.  This  mighty 
master  of  the  forum,  by  his  free  discussions,  both  from  the 
rostrum  and  in  the  senate-house,  gave  new  vigor,  and  a  longer 
duration  of  existence,  to  the  liberty  of  his  country.  Who^ 
more  than  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero,  was  loved  and  cherished  by 
the  friends  of  that  country  ?  Who  more  feared  and  hated  by 
traitors  and  tyrants  ? 

Freedom  of  speech,  Roman  eloquence,  and  Roman  liberty, 
expired  together,  when,  under  the  proscription  of  the  second 
trmmvirate,  the  hired  bravo  of  Mark  Antony  placed  in  the  lap 
of  one  of  his  profligate  minions  the  head  and  the  hands  of 
Tully,  the  statesman,  the  orator,  the  illustrious  father  of  his 
country.  After  amusing  herself  some  hours  by  plunging  her 
bodkin  through  that  tongue  which  had  so  long  delighted  the 
senate  and  the  rostrum,  and  made  Antony  himself  tremble  in 
the  midst  of  his  legions,  she  ordered  that  head  and  those  hands, 
then  the  trophies  of  a  savage  despotism,  to  be  set  up  in  the 
forum. 

"  Her  last  good  man,  dejected  Kome  adored ; 
Wept  for  her  patriot  slain,  and  cursed  the  tyrant's  sword." 

English  statesmen  and  orators,  in  the  free  discussions  of  the 


96  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

English  parliament,  have  been  formed  on  those  illustrious  models 
of  Greek  and  Roman  policy  and  eloquence.  Multiplied  by  the 
teeming  labors  of  the  press,  the  works  of  the  master  and  the 
disciple  have  come  to  our  hands  ;  and  the  eloquence  of  Chatham, 
of  Burke,  of  Fox,  and  of  the  younger  Pitt,  reaches  us,  not  in 
the  feeble  and  evanescent  voice  of  tradition,  but  preserved  and 
placed  b^efore  the  eye  on  the  more  imperishable  page.  Neither 
these  great  originals,  nor  their  improved  transcripts,  have  been 
lost  to  our  country.  The  American  political  school  of  free 
discussion  has  enriched  the  nation  with  some  distinguished 
scholars  ;  and  Dexter,  and  Morris,  and  Pinkney  will  not  soon  be 
forgotten  by  our  country,  or  by  the  hterary  world. 

Some  men  who  now  live  may  hereafter  be  found  deserving  of 
that  life,  in  the  memory  of  posterity,  which  very  great  men 
have  thought  no  Unworthy  object  of  a  glorious  ambition.  Who 
can  censure  this  anxious  wish  to  live  in  human  memory  ?  When 
we  feel  ourselves  borne  along  the  current  of  time ;  when  we 
see  ourselves  hourly  approach  that  cloud,  impenetrable  to  the 
human  eye,  which  terminates  the  last  visible  portion  of  this 
moving  estuary ;  who  of  us,  although  he  may  hope,  when  he 
reaches  it,  to  shoot  through  that  dark  barren  into  a  more  bright 
and  peaceful  region,  yet  who,  I  say,  can  feel  himself  receding 
swiftly  from  the  eye  of  all  human  sympathy,  leaving  the  vision 
of  all  human  monuments,  and  not  wish,  as  he  passes  by,  to 
place  on  those  monuments  some  little  memorial  of  himself — 
some  volume  of  a  book — or,  perhaps,  but  a  single  page,  that  it 
may  be  remembered, 

"  When  we  are  not,  that  we  /lave  heen  /" 
Sir,  these  models  of  ancient  and  modern  policy  and  eloquence, 
formed  in  the  great  schools  of  free  discussion,  both  in  earlier 
and  later  time,  are  in  the  hands  of  thousands  of  those  youths 
who  are  now,  in  all  the  parts  of  our  country,  forming  them- 
selves for  the  public  service.  This  hall  is  the  bright  goal  of 
their  generous,  patriotic,  and  glorious  ambition.  Sir,  they  look 
hither  with  a  feeling  not  unlike  that  devotion  felt  by  the  pilgrim 
as  he  looks  towards  some  venerated  shrine.  Do  not — I  implore 
you,  sir,  do  not — by  your  decision  this  day,  abolish  the  rites  of 
liberty,  consecrated  in  this  place.  Extinguish  not  those  fires  on 
her  altar,  which  should  here  be  eternal.  Suffer  not,  suffer  not 
the  rude  hand  of  this  more  than  Vandal  violence  to  demolish, 
**  from  turret  to  foundation-stone,"  this  last  sanctuary  of  freedom. 

Tristam  Buuges.* 

*  U.  S.  Ecpresentative  from  Kliode  Island. 


C.  C.  NAYLOE.  W 


70.     NORTHERN  LABORERS. 

Sir,  the  gentleman  has  misconceived  the  spirit  and  tendoucy 
of  northern  institutions.  He  is  ignorant  of  northern  character. 
He  has  forgotten  the  history  of  his  country.  Preach  insurrec- 
tion to  the  northern  laborers  !  Who  are  the  northern  laborers  ? 
The  history  of  your  country  is  their  history.  The  renown  of 
your  country  is  their  renown.  The  brightness  cf  their  doings  is 
emblazoned  on  its  every  page.  Blot  from  your  annals  the  deeds 
and  the  doings  of  northern  laborers,  and  the  history  of  you?- 
country  presents  but  a  universal  blank. 

Sir,  who  was  he  that  disarmed  the  Thunderer ;  wrested  from 
his  grasp  the  bolts  of  Jove ;  calmed  the  troubled  ocean ;  be- 
came the  central  sun  of  the  philosophical  system  of  his  age, 
shedding  his  brightness  and  effulgence  on  the  whole  civilized 
world ;  whom  the  great  and  mighty  of  the  earth  delighted  to 
honor ;  who  participated  in  the  achievement  of  your  indepen- 
dence ;  prominently  assisted  in  moulding  your  free  institutions, 
and  the  beneficial  effects  of  whose  wisdom  will  be  felt  to  the 
last  moment  of  "  recorded  time  ?"  Who,  sir,  I  ask,  was  he  ? 
A  northern  laborer — a  Yankee  tallow-chandler's  son — a  printer's 
runaway  boy ! 

And  who,  let  me  ask  the  honorable  gentleman,  who  was  he 
that,  in  the- days  of  our  revolution,  led  forth  a  northern  army — 
yes,  an  army  of  northern  laborers — and  aided  the  chivalry  of 
South  Carolina  in  their  defence  against  British  aggression,  drove 
the  spoilers  from  their  firesides,  and  redeemed  her  fair  fields 
from  foreign  invaders  ?  Who  was  he  ?  A  northern  laborer,  a 
Rhode  Island  blacksmith — the  gallant  General  Greene — who 
left  his  hammer  and  his  forge,  and  went  forth  conquering  and 
to  conquer  in  the  battle  for  our  independence  !  And  will  you 
preach  insurrection  to  men  like  these  ? 

Sir,  our  country  is  full  of  the  achievements  of  northern  la- 
borers !  Where  is  Concord,  and  Lexington,  and  Princeton,  and 
Trenton,  and  Saratoga,  and  Bunker  Hill,  but  in  the  north? 
And  what,  sir,  has  shed  an  imperishable  renown  on  the  never- 
dying  names  of  those  hallowed  spots,  but  the  blood  and  the 
struggles,  the  high  daring  and  patriotism,  and  sublime  courage, 
of  northern  laborers  ?  The  whole  north  is  an  everlasting  monu- 
ment of  the  freedom,  virtue,  intelligence,  and  indomitable  inde- 
pendence of  northern  laborers  !  Go,  sir,  go  preach  insurrection 
to  men  like  these  ! 

The  fortitude  of  the  men  of  the  north,  under  intense  suffering 
P. 


98  SELEdlONS  m  PKOSE. 

for  liberty's  sake,  has  been  almost  godlike !  History  lias  so 
recorded  it.  Who  comprised  that  gallant  army,  that,  without 
food,  without  pay,  shelterless,  shoeless,  penniless,  and  almost 
naked,  in  that  dreadful  winter — the  midnight  of  our  revolution — 
whose  wanderings  could  be  traced  by  their  blood- tracks  in  the 
snow ;  whom  no  arts  could  seduce,  no  appeal  lead  astray,  no 
sufterings  disaffect ;  but  who,  true  to  their  country  and  its  holy 
cause,  continued  to  fight  the  good  fightrof  liberty,  imtil  it  finally 
triumphed  ?  Who,  sir,  were  these  men  ?  Why,  northern  la- 
borers !     Yes,  sir,  northern  laborers  ! 

Who,  sir,  were  Roger  Sherman  and But  it  is  idle  to 

enumeratOv  To  name  the  northern  laborers  who  have  distin- 
guished themselves,  and  illustrated  the  history  of  their  country, 
would  require  days  of  the  time  of  this  house.  Nor  is  it  neces- 
sary. Posterity  will  do  them  justice.  Their  deeds  have  been 
recorded  in  characters  of  fire  !  ^  q  jf^yj^^^  * 


1l.      THE  DESTINY  OF  AMERICA. 

We  may  betray  the  trust  reposed  in  us — we  may  most  miser- 
ibly  defeat  the  fond  hopes  entertained  of  us.  We  may  be- 
come the  scorn  of  tyrants  and  the  jest  of  slaves.  From  our 
fate,  oppression  may  assume  a  bolder  front  of  insolence,  and  its 
victims  sink  into  a  darker  despair. 

In  that  event,  how  unspeakable  will  be  our  disgrace !  with 
what  weight  of  mountains  will  the  infamy  lie  upon  our  souls  ! 
The  gulf  of  our  ruin  will  be  as  deep,  as  the  elevation  we  might 
have  attained  is  high.  How  wilt  thou  fall  from  heaven,  O 
Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning !  Our  beloved  country  with  ashes 
for  beauty  ;  the  golden  cord  of  our  union  broken ;  its  scattered 
fragments  presenting  every  form  of  misrule,  from  the  wildest 
anarchy  to  the  most  ruthless  despotism;  our  "soil  drenched 
with  fraternal  blood  ;"  the  life  of  man  stripped  of  its  grace  and 
dignity ;  the  prizes  of  honor  gone,  and  virtue  divorced  from  half 
its  encouragements  and  supports  ; — these  are  gloomy  pictures, 
which  I  would  not  invite  your  imaginations  to  dwell  upon,  but 
only  to  glance  at,  for  the  sake  of  the  warning  lessons  wc  may 
draw  from  them. 

Remember  that  we  can  have  none  of  those  consolations  which- 

*  U.  S.  Representative  from  Pennsylvania. 


G.  S.  inLLIAED. Dli.  S.  II.  TYNG.  90 

Bustain  the  patriot  who  mourns  over  the  undeserved  misfortunes 
of  his  cour^try.  Our  Rome  cannot  fall,  and  we  be  innocent. 
No  conqueror  will  chain  us  to  the  car  of  his  triumph ;  no 
countless  swarm  of  Huns  and  Goths  will  bury  the  memorials 
and  trophies  of  civiHzed  life  beneath  a  living  tide  of  barbarism. 
Our  own  selfishness,  our  own  neglect,  our  own  passions,  and 
our  own  vices  will  furnish  the  elements  of  our  destruction. 
With  our  own  hands  we  shall  tear  down  the  stately  edifice  of 
our  glory.     We  shall  die  by  self-inflicted  wounds. 

But  we  will  not  talk  of  themes  hke  these.  We  will  not  think 
of  failure,  dishonor,  and  despair.  We  will  elevate  our  minds 
to  the  contemplation  of  our  high  duties,  and  the  great  trust 
committed  to  us.  We  will  resolve  to  lay  the  foundations  of 
our  prosperity  on  that  rock  of  private  virtue  which  cannot  be 
shaken  until  the  la^s  of  the  moral  world  are  reversed.  From 
our  own  bi;easts  shall  flow  the  salient  springs  of  national  increase. 
Then  our  success,  our  happiness,  our  glory  is  inevitable.  We 
may  calmly  smile  at  all  the  croakings  of  all  the  ravens,  whether 
of  native  or  foreign  breed. 

The  whole  will  not  grow  weak  by  the  increase  of  its  parts. 
Our  growth  will  be  like  that  of  the  mountain  oak,  which  strikes 
its  roots  more  deeply  into  the  soil,  and  clings  to  it  with  a  closer 
grasp  as  its  lofty  head  is  exalted  and  its  broad  arms  stretched 
out.  The  loud  burst  of  joy  and  gratitude  which  this,  the 
anniversary  of  our  independence,  is  breaking  from  the  full  hearts 
of  a  mighty  people,  will  never  cease  to  be  heard.  No  chasms 
of  sullen  silence  will  interrupt  its  course ;  no  discordant  notes 
of  sectional  madness  mar  the  general  harmony.  Year  after 
year  will  increase  it,  by  tributes  from  now  unpeopled  solitudes. 
The  farthest  West  shall  hear  it  and  rejoice ;  the  Oregon  shall 
swell  it  with  the  voice  of  its  waters ;  the  Rocky  Mountains  shall 
fling  back  the  glad  sound  from  their  snowy  crests. 

G.  S.  HlLLIARD. 


72.      CALIFORNIA. 

The  colonizing  of  California  is  an  unequalled  wonder  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  whether  you  consider  the  rapidity  of  its  pro- 
gress ;  the  moral  dignity  of  its  settlement,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
overwhelming  confusion  of  its  multitudes  tumbling  in  from  every 
quarter ;  the  wisdom  displayed  in  its  organization  by  the  first 
generation  of  its  inhabitants,  in  the  first  year  of  its  occupation  • 


100  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

or  the  incalculable  results  to  which  its  settlement  must  lead,  in 
the  moral  and  commercial  history  of  the  world.  By  this  pro- 
cess of  settlement,  this  continent  must  soon  become  the  high- 
way to  the  opening  riches  of  Eastern  Asia,  and  the  great  road 
also  on  which  moral  and  intellectual  influence  is  to  travel  thither. 
So  that  either  for  the  purposes  of  earthly  gain,  or  of  religious 
usefulness  to  man,  we  may  hope  the  stormy  doubling  of  the 
southern  Capes  will  soon  come  to  an  end. 

Now,  I  call  this  whole  extent  of  territory  a  gift  to  this  gen- 
eration ;  an  attainment  from  a  far  higher  power  than  the  mere 
power  of  man,  for  purposes  most  important  to  the  interests  of 
man,  and  most  near  to  the  honor  of  his  Creator.  Let  the  suf- 
fering inhabitants  of  the  Old  World  come :  we  may  reel  a  little 
beneath  the  burden  on  this  Atlantic  strip,  but  it  will  be  to 
gather  strength  and  greatness  by  the  eSbrt.  Let  every  sorrow- 
ing refugee  feel,  the  moment  he  has  reached  our  shore,  that 
he  is  an  American,  born  in  that  auspicious  hour,  and  entitled  to 
an  inheritance  for  himself  and  his  children  after  him,  to  be  made 
dependent  upon  nothing  but  his  own  fidehty  in  sustaining  and 
defending  American  principles  of  liberty,  order,  and  truth,  and 
carrying  out,  in  his  own  efforts,  the  great  and  noble  purposes 
for  which  America  has  been  opened  and  provided.  With  this 
extending  territory  we  may  safely,  invite  the  hard-working  men 
from  all  the  earth.  We  may. tell  the  whole  crowd  of  sufferers 
under  foreign  despotism,  that  there  is  a  Goshen  for  them  here, 
and  that  God  has  sent  us  before  them  to  preserve  life.  Here 
they  may  cast  away  the  iron  which  has  entered  into  their  soul, 
and  rise  to  the  manhood  of  their  Creation,  free,  honored,  and 
useful  t6  mankind.  '  pj^  g  jj  Tyng. 


•73.   THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  OUR  COUNTRY. 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  we  entered  upon  the  conquest  of 
A  country  wilder  than  Germany  in  thft  days  of  Csesar,  and  ten 
times  more  extensive;  and  yet  in  that  short  space  we  have 
reached  a  point  of  physical  development  which  twenty  centuries 
have  not  accomphshed  there.  The  forests  have  fallen  down, 
the  earth  has  been  quarried,  cities  and  towns  have  sprung  up  all 
over  the  immense  extent  of  our  land,  thronged  with  life,  and 
resounding  with  the  multitudinous  hum  of  traffic ;  and  from 
hundreds  of  ports  the  canvas  of  ten  thousand  sails  whitens  all 


DK.  C.  S.  HENEY. ^Ei,^.,t5kAil  l^   ]'     \   ]  >  >,  l^J  > 

the  ocean  and  every  sea,  bearing  the  products  of  our  soil  and 
manufactures,  and  bringing  back  the  wealth  and  luxuries  of 
every  quarter  of  the  globe.  Then,  too,  the  tremendous  agencies 
of  nature — the  awful  forces  evolved  by  chemical  and  dynamic 
science — have  been  subdued  to  man's  dominion,  and  have 
become  submissive  ministers  to  his  will,  more  prompt  and  more 
powerful  than  the  old  fabled  genii  of  the  Arabian  tales.  Little 
did  our  fathers,  little  did  we  ourselves,  even  the  youngest  of  us, 
dream — in  the  days  of  our  childhood,  when  we  fed  our  wonder- 
ing imaginations  with  the  prodigies  wrought  by  those  elemental 
spirits  evoked  by  the  talismanic  seal  of  Solomon — that  these 
were  but  faint  foreshadowings  of  what  our  eyes  should  see  in 
the  familiar  goings  on  of  the  every-day  life  around  us.  Yet,  so 
it  truly  is.  Ha  !  gentlemen,  the  steam-engine  is  your  true 
elemental  spirit :  it  more  than  realizes  the  gorgeous  ideas  of  the 
old  Oriental  imagination.  That  had  its  different  orders  of 
elemental  spirits — genii  of  fire,  of  water,  of  earth,  and  of  air, 
whose  everlasting  hostility  could  never  be  subdued  to  unity  of 
purpose  :  this  combines  the  powers  of  all  in  one,  and  a  child 
may  control  them  !  Across  the  ocean,  along  our  coast,  through 
the  length  of  a  hundred  rivers,  with  the  speed  of  wind,  we 
plough  our  way  against  currents,  wind,  and  tide  ;  while,  on  iron 
roads,  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  laud,  innumerable 
trains,  thronged  with  human  life  and  freighted  with  the  wealth 
of  the  nation,  are  urging  their  way  in  every  direction — flying 
through  the  valleys  ;  thundering  across  the  rivers  ;  panting  up 
the  sides,  or  piercing  through  the  hearts  of  the  mountains,  with 
the  resistless  force  of  lightning,  and  scarcely  less  swift ! 

All  this  is  wonderful !  The  old  limitations  to  human  endeavor 
seem  to  be  broken  through — the  everlasting  conditions  of  time 
and  space  seem  to  be  annulled!  Meanwhile  the  magnificenj 
achievements  of  to-day  lead  but  to  grander  projects  for  to- 
morrow. Success  in  the  past  serves  but  to  enlarge  the  pur- 
poses of  the  future  ;  and  the  people  are  rushing  onward  in  a 
career  of  physical  development,  to  which  no  bounds  can  he 

assigned.  -n    rt  a  -u- 

!=  Dr.  C.  S.  Henky. 


14.      THE  SIN  OF  PROFANENESS. 

Profaneness  is   a  brutal  vice.     He  who  indulges  it  is  no 
gentleman.     I  care  not  what  his  stamp  may  be  ti  society,  I 


102  '  'c       r  ,1S^Jl4E<?TI0NS  IN  PEOSE. 

care  not  what  clothes  he  wears,  or  what  culture  he  beasts-— 
despite  all  his  refinement,  the  light  and  habitual  taking  of  God's 
name  betrays  a  coarse  nature  and  a  brutal  will.  Profaneness 
is  an  unmanly  and  silly  vice.  It  certainly  is  not  a  grace  in  con- 
versation, and  it  adds  no  strength  to  it.  There  is  no  organic 
symmetry  in  the  narrative  that  is  ingrained  with  oaths ;  and 
the  blasphemy  that  bolsters  an  opinion,  does  not  make  it  any 
more  correct.  Nay,  the  use  of  these  expletives  argues  a 
limited  range  of  ideas,  and  a  consciousness  of  being  on  the 
wrong  side ;  and  if  we  can  find  no  other  phrases  through 
which  to  vent  our  choking  passion,  we  had  better  repress  that 
passion.  Again,  profaneness  is  a  mean  vice.  It  indicates  the 
grossest  ingratitude.  According  to  general  estimation,  he  who 
repays  kindness  with  contumely — he  who  abuses  his  friend  and 
benefactor,  is  deemed  pitiful  and  wretched.  And  yet,  oh ! 
profane  man,  whose  name  is  it  you  handle  so  lightly?  It  is 
that  of  your  best  Benefactor  ! 

You  whose  blood  would  boil  to  hear  the  venerable  names  of 
your  earthly  parents  hurled  about  in  scoffs  and  jests,  abuse, 
without  compunction  and  without  thought,  the  name  of  your 
heavenly  Father  !  Finally,  profaneness  is  an  awful  vice.  Once 
more  I  ask,  whose  name  is  it  you  so  lightly  use  ?  That  name 
of  God — ^have  you  ever  pondered  its  meaning  ?  Have  you 
ever  thought  what  it  is  that  you  mingle  thus  with  your  passion 
and  your  wit?  It  is  the  name  of  Him  whom  the  angels  wor- 
ship, and  whom  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain ! 

Profane  man !  though  habit  be  ever  so  stringent  with  you, 
when  the  word  of  mockery  and  of  blasphemy  is  about  to  leap 
from  your  lips,  think  of  these  considerations — think  of  God, 
and,  instead  of  that  rude  oath,  cry  out  in  reverent  prayer, 
"  Hallowed  be  thy  name  !"  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^ 


75.     WASHINGTON,  A  MAN  OF  GENIUS. 

How  many  times  have  we  been  told  that  Washington  was 
not  a  man  of  genius,  but  a  person  of  excellent  common  sense,  of 
admirable  judgment,  of  rare  virtues/  He  had  no  genius,  it 
seems.  O  no !  genius,  we  must  suppose,  is  the  peculiar  and 
shining  attribute  of  some  orator,  whose  tongue  can  spout  patri- 
otic speeches  ;  or  some  versifier,  whose  muse  can  Hail  Columbia, 
but  not  of  the  man  Avho  supported  states  on  his  arm,  and  car- 


E.  P.  WinPPLE. EOBEKT  lEEAT  PAINE.  103 

ried  America  in  his- brain.  What  is  genius?  Is  it  worth  any- 
thing? Is  splendid  folly  the  measure  of  its  inspiration?  Is 
wisdom  its  base  and  summit, — that  which  it  recedes  from,  or 
tends  towards  ?  And  by  what  definition  do  you  award  the 
name  to  the  creator  of  an  epic,  and  deny  it  to  the  creator  of  a 
country  ?  On  what  principle  is  it  -to  be  lavished  on  him  who 
sculptures  in  perishing  marble  the  image  of  possible  excellence, 
and  withheld  from  him  who  built  up  in  himself  a  transcendent 
characier,  maestructible  as  the  obligations  of  duty,  and  beautiful 
as  her  rewards  ? 

Indeed,  if  by  the  genius  of  action,  you  mean  will  enlightened 
by  intelhgence,  and  intelligence  energized  by  will,* — if  force  and 
insight  be  its  characteristics,  and  influence  its  test,  and  if  great 
efi'ects  suppose  a  cause  proportionally  great,  a  vital,  causative 
mind, — then  was  Washington  most  assuredly  a  man  of  geni.js, 
and  one  whom  no  other  American  has  equalled  in  the  power  of 
working  morally  and  mentally  on  other  minds.  His  genius  was 
of  a  peculiar  kind,  the  genius  of  character,  of  thought,  and  the 
objects  of  thought  solidified  and  concentrated  into  active  faculty. 
He  belongs  to  that  rare  class  of  men, — rare  as  Homers  and 
Miltons,  rare  as  Platos  and  Newtons, — who  have  impressed 
their  characters  upon  nations  without  pampering  national  vices. 
Such  men  have  natures  broad  enough  to  include  all  the  facts  of 
a  people's  practical  life,  and  deep  enough  to  discern  the  spirit- 
ual laws  which  underlie,  animate,  and  govern  those  facts. 

Edwin  P.  WiiirPLE. 


16.      THE  DEATH  OF  WASHINGTON. 

Having  accomplished  the  embassy  of  a  benevolent  Provi- 
dence, Washington,  the  founder  of  one  nation,  the  sublime 
instructor  of  all,  took  his  flight  to  heaven — not  like  Mahomet, 
for  his  memory  is  immortal  without  the  fiction  of  a  miracle ; 
not  like  Elijah,  for  recording  time  has  not  registered  the  man 
on  whom  his  mantle  should  descend ;  but  in  humble  imitation 
of  that  Omnipotent  Architect,  who  returned  from  a  created 
universe  to  contemplate  from  his  throne  the  stupendous  fabric 
he  had  erected ! 

The  august  form  whose  undaunted  majesty  could  arrest  the 
Gghtning,  ere  it  fell  on  the  bosom  of  his  country,  now  sleeps  in 
silent  ruin,  untenanted  of  its  celestial  essence.  But  the  incor- 
mptible  example  of  his  virtues  shall  survive,  unimpaired  by  the 


104  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSiL". 

corrosion  of  time,  and  acquire  new  vigor  and  influence  frons 
the  crimes  of  ambition  and  the  decay  of.  empires.  The  inval- 
uable valediction  bequeathed  to  the  people  who  inherited  his 
affections,  is  the  effort  of  a  mind  whose  powers,  like  those  oi 
prophecy,  could  overleap  the  tardy  progress  of  human  reason, 
and  unfold  truth  without  the,  labor  of  investigation.  Impressed 
in  indelible  characters,  this  legacy  of  his  intelligence  will 
descend,  unsullied  as  its  purity,  to  the  wonder  and  instruction 
of  succeeding  generations ;  and  should  the  mild  philosophy  of 
its  maxims  be  ingrafted  into  the  policy  of  nations,  at  no  distant 
period  will  the  departed  hero,  who  now  lives  only  in  :'he  spot- 
less splendor  of  his  own  great  actions,  exist  in  the  happiness 
and  dignity  of  mankind. 

The  sighs  of  contemporary  gratitude  have  attended  the  sub- 
lime spirit  to  its  paternal  abode  ;  and  the  prayers  of  meliorated 
posterity  will  ascend  in  glowing  remembrance  of  their  illustrious 
benefactor !  The  laurels  that  now  droop  as  they  shadow  his 
tomb  with  monumental  glory,  will  be  watered  by  the  tears  of 
ages ;  and,  embalmed  in  the  heart  of  an  admiring  world,  the 
temple  erected  to  his  memory  will  be  more '  glorious  than  the 
pyramids,  and  as  eternal  as  his  own  imperishable  virtues  ! 

RoBE&T  Teeat  Paink 


'7'?.      THE  DEATH  OF  GEN.  HARRISON. 

The  great  body  of  the  American  people  had  fixed  their  hopes 
on  General  Harrison,  as  the  individual  under  whose  auspices, 
in  the  presidential  office,  the  country  might  regain  its  prosperity, 
and  be  reinstated  in  the  honest  and  honorable  republicanism  of 
its  earlier  days.  These  hopes  fired  the  bosoms  of  the  people ; 
they  cheered,  invigorated,  and  united  them  in  the  political  con- 
test ;  and  they  seemed  to  be  realized  by  his  elevation.  Where 
are  they  now  ?  So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  they  are  entombed 
with  him ;  and  bereaved  America,  tearful  and  trembling,  casts 
a  pensive  and  timorous  eye  over  the  period  which  she  deemed 
him  destined  to  brighten  and  bless. 

Behold  the  melting  away  of  earthly  greatness!  When  I 
reflect  on  these  events,  I  am  confounded  with  the  various, 
mighty,  and  rapid  vicissitudes  in  human  affairs.  We  seem  to 
have  passed  through  the  excitement  and  incidents  of  an  age. 
A  private  citizen  becomes  the  rallying  point  of  party  arrange- 
ments, that  reach    to  the  remotest  corners  of   our  extensive 


KEV.  J.  F.  McLAIJEN.-  —DR.  STEVENS.  105 

country,  and  that  animate  every  man  with  a  zeal  which  seems 
to  identify  the  destiny  of  the  nation  with  his  individual  action. 
In  ten  thousand  neighborhoods,  they  meet  to  decide  the  civil 
strife :  a  thrilling  suspense  of  universal  uncertainty  is  termin- 
ated by  the  irreversible  announcement ;  and  upon  that  private 
citizen  devolves  the  distinguished  glory  of  presiding  over  the 
civil  affairs  of  seventeen  millions  of  people  !  We  looked  upon 
him  in  amazement ;  but  while  we  looked,  we  saw  him  grow 
pale  and  sink,  and  gasp,  and  die  : — "  and  wherein  is  he  any  more 
to  be  accounted  of !" 

Do  crowned  heads  rank  high  in  the  circles  of  human  great- 
ness ?  Much  more  did  he ;  for  it  was  not  the  accident  of 
royal  birth — it  was  not  the  issue  of  ambitidn,  that  exalted  him. 
No ;  it  was  a  nobler  cause  !  High,  by  undisputed  merit,  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  their  suffrage  raised  him  high  in  of&cial 
station.  Their  spontaneous  call  drew  him  from  the  retirement 
and  repose  of  private  life,  "  which  he  had  hoped  would  be  per- 
petual ;"  and  the  enthusiasm  of  their  patriotism  placed  him  at 
the  post  of  high  responsibility,  occupied  only  by  those  whom 
the  people  dehght  to  trust  and  honor.  They  saw  him  consti- 
tutionally invested  with  the  honors  and  authority  of  the  lofty 
station ;  they  mingled  their  gratulations  together ;  and  the 
voice  of  rejoicing  was  heard  through  the  land.  But,  scarcely 
had  the  pleasant  gales  wafted  the  plaudits  of  a  dehghted  people 
to  the  borders  of  the  republic,  ere  they  are  ,  commissioned  to 
bear  the  heavy  tidings,  thrilling  to  every  heart,  that  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Union  is  dead  !  So  transitory  is  earthly  greatness  ! 
*'  Man,  being  in  honor,  abideth  not."  "  He  dieth ;  yea,  he 
giveth  up  the  ghost ;  and  where  is  he  ?"       ^^^^  j_  j,^  McLaren. 


18.      THE  DEATH  OF  GEN.  TAYLOR. 

Yes  !  General  Taylor  is  dead  !  The  bold  soldier,  the  devoted 
patriot,  the  upright  president  is  dead.  But  it  is  his  body  only 
that  is  dead.  That  which  vivified  his  form,  which  lit  up  his 
eye,  which  spoke  out  from  his  tongue ;  that  which  made  him 
what  he  was — the  soul ;  that  is  not  dead  ! 

"  In  the  blank  silence  of  the  narrow  tomb 
The  clay  may  rest  which  wrapped  his  human  birth ; 
But,  aU  unconquered  by  that  silent  doom, 
The  spirit  of  his  thought  shall  walk  the  earth, 
In  glory  and  in  light." 

5* 


lOG  SELECTIONS  IN  mOSE. 

His  deeds  arc  not  dead.  That  soldierly  prowess  wliich 
marked  his  conduct  in  three  sanguinary  wars  ;  which  won  for 
him  laurels  in  youth,  as  well  as  garlands  in  age  ;  those  great 
achievements  on  the  tented  field,  beneath  the  moated  wall  and 
in  the  nation's  cabinet,  marking  him  out  as  a  model  of  courage, 
energy,  and  decision ; — these  are  not  dead.  Those  deeds  are 
written  in  his  country's  annals — are  part  of  his  country's  glory, 
and  shall  live  while  a  page  of  history  remains. 

His  name  is  not  dead.  But  five  years  ago,  the  nation,  with 
breathless  anxiety,  turning  its  eyes  to  the  Rio  Grande — to  the 
little  army  of  occupation  and  to  the  scarcely  known  leader, 
asked,  with  an  intensity  of  earnestness  which  showed  how  much 
hung  upon  his  character.  Who  is  General  Taylor  ?  They  ask 
not  now  that  question ;  for  that  name,  coupled  with  so  many 
victories,  and  linked  with  such  mighty  deeds, 

"  Is  Freedom's  now  and  Fame's : 


One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names 
That  were  not  born  to  die." 

His  glory  is  not  dead.  The  sun  that  shed  such  lustrous 
beams  has,  indeed,  set,  but  the  whole  firmament  blushes  with 
the  roseate  tints  which  linger  above  the  horizon.  His  honors 
have  all  been  gathered  under  that  flag  which  he  never  lowered 
to  mortal  foe,  but  which  a  nation  lowered  to  him,  when  he  fell 
beneath  the  only  enemy  he  could  not  conquer.  Forty  years  he 
dwelt  beneath  that  banner ;  under  it  he  won  his  victories  and 
his  fame ;  beneath  it  he  put  off  the  corselet  of  the  warrior  for 
the  toga  of  the  statesman  ;  on  it  his  eye  last  rested  as  it  floated 
out  in  freedom's  breeze,  on  freedom's  natal  morn  ;  and  under 
its  craped  and  drooping  folds  he  was  borne,  amidst  the  mourning 
of  a  great  nation,  to  the  voiceless  dweUing  of  the  tomb.  And 
now,  wherever  that  flag  lifts  up  to  heaven  its  glittering  stars  of 
freedom,  or  rolls  out  to  the  wind  the  blended  stripes  of  union 
— whether  it  rustles  to  the  breezes  of  the  Atlantic,  or  dallies 
with  the  airs  of  the  Pacific — whether  it  waves  from  the  peaks 
of  .  the  Rocky  Mountains,  or  hangs  pensively  in  the  lowly 
valley — whether  it  floats  over  bristling  ramparts,  or  the  dome 
of  the  capitol, — it  cannot  be  hoisted,  it  cannot  be  seen,  neither 
m  the  present  hour  of  sorrow,  nor  yet  in  the  roll  of  far-off  ages, 
without  telling  of  him  as  a  patriot,  a  hero,  and  a  statesman. 

His  influence  is  not  dead.  He  has  set  in  motion  trains  of 
'bought,  schemes  of  state,  and  agencies  of  power  that  will  be 
working  out  their  result  to  far-distant  generations.  Influence 
IS  immortal.     The  great  thoughts  of  a  great  mind  are  as  death- 


DK.  STEVENS. KOBEKT  KELLY.  10-7 

less  as  the  mind  that  bore  them.  The  deeds  of  one  chieftain 
are  models  for  future  chieftains ;  and  many  a  modern  hero,  like 
Michael  Angelo,  has  learned  to  sculpture  out  for  himself  a  more 
than  ideal  perfection,  by  studying  some  fragment  of  former 
greatness — some  "  Torso"  of  a  once  giant  mind,  that  even  in  its 
mutilation  has  fired  his  thought  with  beauty,  and  guided  his  art 
with  truth.  Gen.  Taylor,  once  the  man  of  a  party,  is  now  the 
man  of  the  country  !  Death  has  cut  the  tie  which  bound  him 
to  a  political  sect,  and  in  its  place  forged  an  adamantine  chain 
that  links  his  memory  with  the  Union — the  whole  Union — by 
the  most  thrilling  remembrances  that  can  stir  the  soul,  or  rouse 
the  gratitude,  or  call  out  the  love  of  a  noble  and  independent 
People.  Dfl.  Stevens. 


79.      A  RELIGIOUS  SPIRIT  IN  EDUCATION. 
From  a  discourse  at  the  opening  of  the  New  York  Free  Acadenoy 

The  spirit  of  Christianity  should  pervade  education  as  it  per- 
vades the  laws  of  the  land  and  the  administration  of  justice ; 
and  a  devout  Christian  sentiment  should  be  its  prevailing  tone 
of  morals  and  philosophy.  Let  instructors  teach  that  the  truths 
of  Nature  rest  upon  the  truth  of  God.  Let  them  demonstrate 
that  at  the  foundation  of  every  science  lies  omniscient  wisdom ; 
that  all  of  beautiful  or  sublime  truth  is  but  a  development  of 
the  Divine  mind.  Let  them  point  to  the  limits  where  man,  by 
searching,  can  find  out  no  further,  because  he  meets  the  unre- 
vealed  mysteries  of  the  Divine  power.  Let  the  serene  light  of 
a  pure  religion  permeate  every  science,  brightening  and  blend- 
ing with  its  beauty  and  truth,  like  a  lamp  set  within  a  vase  ot 
alabaster,  bringing  out,  into  bolder  relief  and  more  exquisite 
effect,  the  forms  and  ornaments  that  are  sculptured  upon  it. 

When  exhibiting  the  scroll  of  the  heavens,  and  pointing  out 
the  golden  characters  emblazoned  upon  it,  let  them  teach  that 
those  characters  are  the  symbols  of  worlds  ;  let  not  the  guidance 
of  a  mad  undevoutness  lead  to  the  inconclusive  reasoning,  that 
because  the  Almighty  hath  created  all  those  radiant  spheres, 
which  none  but  himself  can  number  or  call  by  their  names,  and 
for  his  glory  sent  them  upon  their  career,  whirling,  like  burning 
censers,  through  the  sky,  and  binds  them  to  his  throne  with 
cords  invisible,  and  sustains  them  in  their  prescribed  courses,  not 
needing  to  check  or  alter,  with  his  hand,  their  intricate  move- 
ments ;  therefore,  his  rebellious  creatures  upon  tliis  apostate  orb 


108  SELECTIONS  m  PKOSE. 

are  not  subject  to  the  moral  laws  and  the  eternal  sanctions  o\ 
his  infinite  government ;  but  let  this  be  the  spirit  of  their  teach- 
ing : — "  When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers, 
the  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  What  is  man, 
that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  or  the  son  of  man,  that  thou  vis- 
itest  him  ?" 

When,  beneath  the  varied  'surface  of  this  earth,  the  instructor 
shows  his  pupils  those  tablets  of  stone  on  which  are  graven  the 
only  records  of  its  primeval  ages,  he  will  let  them  trace  on  them, 
as  on  the  tables  of  the  law  written  upon  Mount  Smai,  the  jinger 
of  God.  He  will  teach  them,  that  the  records  of  God's  power 
and  the  revelation  of  his  will,  the  registers  of  an  eternity  past, 
and  the  chart  of  an  eternity  to  come,  shall  one  day  be  beautiful- 
ly reconciled  in  a  perfect  gospel  harmony.  He  will  tell  them 
that  should  voices  come  forth  from  the  tomb  of  buried  centu- 
ries, full  of  dark  and  doubtful  import,  they  may  be  like  the  false 
oracles  of  ancient  times,  issuing  from  the  earth  only  to  beguile 
those  who  trusted  in  them  ;  that  should  science  seem  to  declare 
that  the  Jehovah,  who  spake  by  the  lips  and  the  pen  of  Moses 
of  the  creation  of  the  world  and  the  origin  of  our  race,  is  to  be 
dethroned,  they  have  only  to  wait  until,  by  a  more  potent  ad- 
juration, she  be  compelled  to  make  a  fuller,  a  clearer,  and  more 
truthful  utterance  ;  for  science,  exorcised  and  dispossessed,  shall 
one  day  sit  humbly  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross,  and  the  Pythoness 
shall  become  a  prophetess  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^ 


80.-    MENTAL  DILIGENCE. 
From  a  discourse  at  the  first  Anniversary  of  the  New  York  Free  Academy. 

The  mind  must  not  be  pampered  with  luxuries,  nor  fritteied 
away  with  frivolity.  It  must  sharpen  its  appetite  by  maniy 
exercises,  and  invigorate  its  powers  by  manly  studies.  It  mast 
be  grasping  for  truths  which  are  almost  beyond  its  reach.  Its 
amusement  must  be  to  hunt  the  boldest  dogma  down,  with  all 
the  keenness  of  a  sportsman.  It  must  eat  that  which  it  taketh 
in  hunting,  and  it  will  grow  by  what  it  feeds  on.  It  is  thus 
that  desirable  distinction  has  always  been  attained.  The  great 
and  good  of  past  ages,  those  of  whom  the  race  has  most  reason 
to  be  proud,  those  whose  examples  and  whose  fame  are  most 
familiar  to  us,  are  the  most  striking  examples  of  it.  History 
and  Fame  will  show  you  the  records  of  ancient  greatness.     It 


EKASTUS  C.  BENEDICT. — JOHN  MILTON.  109 

is  there  set  down  that  Cicero,  by  an  industry  that  never  tired, 
acquired  his  stores  of  learning  ;  that  it  was  by  constant  labor 
that  the  thunders  of  Grecian  eloquence  were  taught  to  roll  from 
lips  that  stammered  up  to  manhood,  and  Socrates,  and  Plato, 
and  Archimedes,  and  such  as  they,  were  never  idle.  They  are 
all  described  in  the  records  of  their  glory  as  men  of  incredible 
industry,  of  singular  diligence.  And  in  more  modern  times  it 
has  not  been  otherwise.  Think  you  that  Newton  came  from 
the  hand  of  his  Creator  a  genius  so  much  mightier  than  all  who 
had  gone  before  him,  as  the  effects  which  he  produced  exceeded 
those  of  any  other  age  ?  Do  you  believe  that  our  own  Frank- 
iin  was  formed  by  nature  alone  to  sport  with  the  thunders,  and 
make  the  lightning  the  plaything  of  his  leisure  ?  He  had 
learned  that  nature  is  to  be  subdued  only  by  obeying  her  laws ; 
and  only  by  a  careful  study  did  he  learn  them,  obey  them,  and 
make  then;  his  servants.  Bacon  will  be  remembered  till  there 
is  no  more  need  of  philosophy,  and  Franklin  and  Newton  will 
live,  in  the  gratitude  of  the  world,  till  the  last  lightnings  shall 
have  played  through  the  heavens,  and  they  be  rolled  together 
as  a  scroll.  And  this  enduring  fame  was  the  reward  of  lives  of  in- 
credible laborious  industry,  in  the  pursuit  of  useful  knowledge. 

Erastus  C.  Benedict. 


81.      A  GOOD  BOOK. 

As  good  almost  kill  a  mafn  as  kill  a  book :  who  kills  a  man, 
kills  a  reasonable  creature  :  God's  image  ;  but  he  who  destroys 
a  good  b(?ok,  kills  reason  itself :  kills  the  image  of  God,  as  it 
were,  in  the  eye.  Many  a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth  ;  but 
a  good  book  is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit,  em- 
balmed and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a  life  beyond  life.  It 
is  true,  no  age  can  restore  a  life,  whereof  perhaps  there  is  no 
great  loss ;  and  revolutions  of  ages  do  not  oft  recover  the  loss 
of  a  rejected  truth,  for  the  want  of  which  Avhole  nations  fare  the 
worse.  We  should  be  wary,  therefore,  what  persecutions  we 
raise  against  the  living  labors  of  public  men :  how  we  spill  that 
seasoned  life  of  man,  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books ;  since 
we  see  a  kind  of  homicide  may  be  thus  committed ;  sometimes 
a  martyrdom  ;  and,  if  it  extend  to  the  whole  impression,  a  kind 
of  massacre,  whereof  the  execution  ends  not  in  the  slaying  of  an 
elemental  life,  but  strikes  at  that  ethereal  and  sift  essence,  the 
breath  of  reason  itself  :  slays  an  immortality  rather  than  a  life. 

JoBN  Milton. 


110  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 


82.      TRUTH  AND  FALSEHOOD. 


Though  all  the  winds  of  doctrine  were  let  loose  to  play  upon 
the  earth,  so  Truth  be  in  the  field,  we  do  injuriously,  by  licens- 
ing and  prohibiting,  to  doubt  her  strength.  Let  her  and  False- 
hood grapple  ;  who  ever  knew  Truth  put  to  the  worse  in  a  free 
and  open  encounter  ?  who  knows  not  that  Truth  is  strong,  next 
oo  the  Almighty  ?  She  needs  no  policies,  nor  stratagems,  nor 
licensings,  to  make  her  victorious  ;  those  are  the  shifts  and  de- 
fences that  error  uses  against  her  power.  Give  her  but  room, 
and  do  not  bind  her  when  she  sleeps  ;  for  then  she  speaks  not 
true,  but  then  rather  she  turns  herself  into  all  shapes,  except 
her  own,  and  perhaps  tunes  her  voice  according  to  the  time, 
until  she  be  adjured  into  her  own  likeness. 

John  Miltox. 


83.    the  institutions  of  England. 

If  you  are  convinced  that  the  habits  of  a  country  must  be 
formed  by  its  institutions,  and  if  you  are  also  convinced  that  our 
institutions  are  superior  to  those  of  other  countries,  let  us  de- 
termine to  chng  to  our  native  government. 

All  the  excitement  that  accompanies  mighty  changes,  is  now 
beginning  quietly  to  settle ;  the  influence,  the  disturbing  influ- 
ence of  those  changes,  is  gradually  lessening  ;  the  dazzhng  illu- 
sions of  "  glorious  days"  are  dissipated ;  and  we  are  now  per- 
mitted to  see  things  in  their  true  colors.  The  convictions,  the 
feelings,  the  affections  of  the  people  are  gravitating  towards 
their  old  centre,  in  which  sit  enthroned  respect  for  property, 
love  of  rational  freedom,  and  attachment  to  long-established  and 
prescriptive  authority. 

Yes  ;  from  these  walls  a  spirit  shall  go  forth,  that  shall  sur- 
vive when  this  edifice  shall  be,  like  an  unsubstantial  pageant, 
faded.  That  spirit  shall  survive  by  the  remembrance  of  this 
day,  spreading  a  contagious  influence  into  every  part  of  the  em- 
pire, animating  the  desponding  and  encouraging  the  brave. 

It  shall  go  forth  exulting  in,  but  not  abusing,  its  strength.  It 
shall  go  forth,  remembering,  in  the  days  of  its  prosperity,  the 
pledges  it  gave  in  the  time  of  its  depression.  It  shall  go  forth, 
uniting  a  disposition  to  correct  abuses,  to  redress  grievances.  It 
shall  go  forth,  uniting  the  disposition  to  improve,  with  the  resc- 


I 


KOBEKT  PEEL. DANIEL  o'cOIs^NELL.         Ill 

Jution  to  maintain  and  defend,  by  that  spirit  of  unl  ought  affec- 
tion which  is  the  chief  defence  of  nations. 

Our  ancient  constitution  shall  survive  at  last,  protecting  the 
rich  from  spoliation,  and  the  poor  from  oppression.  No  tawdry 
emblems  of  revolution  shall  float  over  its  ruin. 

"  The  flag,  that  for  a  thousand  years 
Has  braved  tlie  battle  and  the  breeze," 

shall  still  float  over  the  ramparts.  And  that  faith,  ai'.d  those 
national  establishments  intended  for  its  protection,  as  they  exist 
respectively  in  the  three  branches  of  the  United  Kingdom — those 
establishments  which  kings  have  sworn  to  protect,  and  to  the 
maintenance  of  which  the  national  honor  is  pledged,  as  essen- 
tial parts  of  a  great  national  compact,  shall  survive  ;  and  the 
religion  which  we  profess,  the  off'sprir^  of  free  inquiry,  shall 
find,  in  the  diffusion  of  sound  knowledge,  new  sources  of 
strength ;  and  great  as  may  be  the  storm  of  adversity  to  which 
it  may  be  exposed,  it  shall  come  out  proved  and  fortified  by  the 
trial,  and  remain  rooted  deeply  in  the  convictions,  the  feehngs, 
and  affections  of  the  people.  ^^^^^^  p^^^^ 


84.      THE  IRISH  DISTURBANCE  BILL 

I  DO  not  rise  to  fawn  or  cringe  to  this  house  ;  I  do  not  rise 
to  supplicate  you  to  be  merciful  towards  the  nation  to  which  I 
belong — towards  a  nation  which,  though  subject  to  England, 
yet  is  distinct  from  it.  It  is  a  distinct  nation :  it  has  been  treated 
as  such  by  this  country,  as  may  be  proved  by  history,  and  by 
seven  hundred  years  of  tyranny.  I  call  upon  this  house,  as 
you  value  the  liberty  of  England,  not  to  allow  the  present  ne- 
farious bill  to  pass.  In  it  are  involved  the  liberties  of  England, 
the  liberty  of  the  press,  and  of  every  other  institution  dear  to 
Englishmen. 

Against  the  bill  I  protest  in  the  name  of  the  Irish  people,  and 
in  the  face  of  heaven.  I  treat  with  scorn  the  puny  and  pitiful 
assertions  that  grievances  are  not  to  be  complained  of,  that  our 
redress  is  not  to  be  agitated  ;  for,  in  such  cases,  remonstrances 
cannot  be  too  strong,  agitation  cannot  be  too  violent,  to  show  to 
the  world  with  what  injustice  our  fair  claims  are  met,  and  under 
what  tyranny  the  people  suffer. 

There  are  two  fricrhtful  clauses  in  this  bill.     The  one  which 


112  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

does  away  with  trial  by  jury,  and  which  I  have  called  upon  you 
to  baptize  :  you  call  it  a  court-martial,-^a  mere  nickname  ;  1 
stigmatize  it  as  a  revolutionary/  tribu7ial.  What,  in  the  name  of 
heaven,  is  it,  if  it  is  not  a  revolutionary  tribunal  ?  It  annihilates 
the  trial  by  jury ;  it  drives  the  judge  from  his  bench, — the  man 
who,  from  experience,  could  weigh  the  nice  and  delicate  points 
of  a  case, — who  could  discriminate  between  the  straightforward 
testimony  and  the  suborned  evidence, — who  could  see,  plainly 
and  readily,  the  justice  or  injustice  of  the  accusation.  It  turns 
out  this  man  who  is  free,  unshackled,  unprejudiced, — who  has 
no  previous  opinions  to  control  the  clear  exercise  of  his  duty. 
You  do  away  with  that  which  is  more  sacred  than  the  throne 
itself ;  that  for  which  your  king  reigns,  your  lords  deliberaivj, 
your  commons  assemble. 

If  ever  I  doubted  before  of  the  success  of  our  agitation  for 
repeal,  this  bill,  this  infamous  bill,  the  way  in  which  it  has  been 
received  by  the  house,  the  manner  in  which  its  opponents  have 
been  treated,  the  personalities  to  which  they  have  been  sub- 
jected, the  yells  with  which  one  of  them  has  this  night  been 
greeted, — all  these  things  dissipate  my  doubts,  and  tell  me  of 
its  complete  and  early  triumph.  Do  you  think  those  yells  will 
be  forgotten  ?  Do  you  suppose  their  echo  will  not  reach  the 
plains  of  my  injured  and  insulted  country ;  that  they  will  not 
bo '  rt^hispered  in  her  green  valleys,  and  heard  from  her  lofty 
hills  ?  Oh !  they  will  be  heard  there  :  yes,  and  they  will  not 
be  forgotten.  The  youth  of  Ireland  will  bound  with  indignation  ; 
they  will  say,  "  We  are  eight  millions  ;  and  you  treat  us  thus, 
as  though  we  were  no  more  to  your  country  than  the  isle  of 
Guernsey  or  of  Jersey  !" 

I  have  done  my  duty ;  I  stand  acquitted  to  my  conscience 
and  my  country :  I  have  opposed  this  measure  throughout ; 
and  I  now  protest  against  it  as  harsh,  oppressive,  uncalled  for, 
unjust,  as  establishing  an  infamous  precedent  by  retaliating 
crime  against  crime;  as  tyrannous,  cruelly  and  vindictively 
tyrannous.  Daniel  O'Connell. 


85.      THE  MISERIES  OP  IRELAND. 


Englishmen,  look  at  Ireland !  what  do  you  behold  ? — a  beau- 
tiful countty,  with  wonderful  agricultural  and  comniercial  ad- 
vantages,— the  link  between  America  and  Europe, — the  natural 


SHIEL.  113 

resting-place  of  trade,  in  its  way  to  either  liemispliere  ;  indented 
with  havens,  watered  by  deep  and  numerous  rivers,  with  a  for- 
tunate chmate,  and  a  soil  teeming  with  easy  fertility,  and  inhab- 
ited by  a  bold,  intrepid,  and — with  all  their  faults — a  generous 
and  enthusiastic  people. 

Such  is  natural  Ireland  :  what  is  artificial  Ireland  ?  Such  is 
Ireland,  as  God  made  her :  what  is  Ireland,  as  England  made 
her? 

This  fine  coun^jry  is  laden  with  a  population  the  most  misera- 
ble in  Europe.  Your  domestic  swine  are  better  housed  than 
the  people.  Harvests,  the  most  abundant,  are  reaped  by  men 
w^ith  starvation  in  their  faces  ;  famine  covers  a  fruitful  soil ;  and 
disease  inhales  a  pure  atmosphere  :  all  the  great  commercial  fa- 
cilities of  the  country  are  lost ;  the  deep  rivers,  that  should  cir- 
culate opulence,  and  turn  the  machinery  of  a  thousand  manu- 
factures, flo,w  to  the  ocean  without  wafting  a  boat  or  turning  a 
wheel ;  and  the  wave  breaks  in  solitude  in  the  silent  magnifi- 
cence of  deserted  and  shipless  harbors. 

Instead  of  being  a  source  of  wealth  and  revenue  to  the  em 
pire,  Ireland  cannot  defray  her  own  expenses,  or  pay  a  single 
tax.     Instead  of  being  a  bulwark  and  fortress,  she  debilitates, 
exhausts,  and  endangers  England,  and  offers  an  allurement  to 
the  speculators  in  universal  ruin. 

The  great  mass  of  her  enormous  population  is  ahenated  and 
dissociated  from  the  state  ;  the  influence  of  the  constituted  and 
legitimate  authorities  is  gone  ;  a  strange,  anomalous,  and  unex- 
ampled kind  of  government  has  sprung  up  from  the  public 
passions,  and  exercises  a  despotic  sway  over  the  great  mass  of 
the  community  ;  while  the  class  inferior  in  numbers,  but  accus- 
tomed to  authority,  and  infuriated  at  its  loss,  are  thrown  into 
formidable  reaction.  The  most  ferocious  passions  rage  from  one 
extremity  of  the  country  to  the  other.  Hundreds  and  thou- 
sands of  men,  arrayed  with  badges,  gather  in  the  south  ;  and  the 
smaller  factions,  with  discipline  and  arms,  are  marshalled  in  the 
north.  The  country  is  strewed  with  the  materials  of  civil  com- 
motion, and  seems  like  one  vast  magazine  of  powder,  which  a 
spark  might  ignite  into  an  explosion  that  would  shake  the  whole 
fabric  of  civil  society  into  ruin,  and  of  which  England  would 
perhaps  never  recover  from  the  shock.  g 


V 


>i 


114:  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 


86.     THE  VANITY  OF  LEARNING. 

'■'  r 

f  /  To  be  ambitious  of  distinction  in  tbe  world,  is  a  commendac 
ble  quality,  when  it  excites  men  to  the  performance  of  illustri- 
ous actions,  for  the  benefit  of  human  kind.  But  for  the  pleasure 
of  being  lifted  up,  for  a  moment,  above  the  common  level  of 
mankind, — of  being  made  a  spectacle  for  silly  people  to  admire 
and  applaud, — of  having  his  ears  stunned  with  the  senseless 
noise  of  popularity, — many  a  man  has  forfeited  his  character 
with  the  wise  and  good,  and  inflicted  woimds  on  his  conscience 
which  the  balm  of  flattering  dependents  can  never  heal,  i 

The  love  of  learning  itself  is  not  to  be  gratified  beyond  a  cer- 
tain limit ;  it  must  not  be  indulged  to  the  injury  of  your  health, 
nor  to  the  hindrance  of  your  virtue :  of  that  virtue  which  is 
employed  in  discharging  the  duties  of  your  station  with  firm- 
ness and  activity.  What  will  the  fame  derived  from  the  most 
profound  learning  avail  you,  if  you  have  not  learned  to  be  pious, 
and  humble,  and  temperate,  and  charitable  ?  Your  wisdom  is 
nothing  worth,  unless  you  are  wise  in  working  out  your  own 
salvation:  your  researches  into  the  depths  of  philosophy  are 
but  the  triflings  of  an  idle  mind,  unless  they  teach  you  to  search 
out  God,  to  adore  his  inscrutable  perfections,  and  to  regulate 
all  your  conduct  in  obedience  to  his  will.  If  the  condition  of 
your  parents  is  such  as  enables  them  to  give  you  a  learned 
education,  it  will  be  a  shame  for  you  to  disappoint  their  hopes 
by  idleness  and  profligacy.  You  must  use  diligence  in  acquir- 
ing all  the  knowledge  you  can  of  such  branches  of  study  as  you 
shall  be  directed  to  cultivate;  but  you  must  not  suffer  the 
praises  you  hear  bestowed  on  learning,  to  induce  you  to  believe 
that  there  is  nothing  more  excellent  as  a  qualification ;  for  piety 
is  more  excellent ;  so  is  benevolence ;  so  is  sobriety ;  so  is  every 
virtue  which  adorns  a  Christian.  You  must  not  let  your  knowl- 
edge puff"  you  up  with  vanity ;  for  there  can  be  no  cause  for 
your  presumption.  You  may^  know  a  little  more  than  those 
who  have  not  been  instructed  as  well  as  you  have  been,  or 
than  those  whom  God  has  not  favored  with  as  good  talents  as 
he  has  given  you  ;  but  those  who  know  the  most  of  any  subject, 
know  so  little  of  it,  that  their  knowledge  is,  to  them,  only  a 
more  convincing  proof  than  other  men  have,  of  the  great  and 
general  weakness  of  the  human  understanding.  If  your  knowl- 
edge produces  that  reflection  in  you,  instead  of  vanity,  its  fruit 
will  be  humility ;  and  if  it  does  not  produce  it,  it  deceives  you. 

Bisnoi?  WiTSON. 


DE.    CHALMEES.  115 


87.-    THE  MISERIES  OF  WAR. 

The  stoutest  heart  in  this  assembly  would  recoil,  were  he 
who  owns  it  to  behold  the  destruction  of  a  single  individual  by 
some  deed  of  violence.  Were  the  man  who,  at  this  Aoment, 
stands  before  you,  in  the  full'  play  and  energy  of  health,  to  be, 
in  another  moment,  laid,  by  some  deadly  aim,  a  hfeless  corpse 
at  your  feet,  there  is  not  one  of  you  who  would  not  prove  how 
strong  are  the  relentings  of  nature  at  a  spectacle  so  hideous  as 
death.  There  are  some  of  you  who  would  be  haunted,  for 
whole  days,  by  the  image  of  horror  you  had  witnessed ;  who 
would  feel  the  weight  of  a  most  oppressive  sensation  upon  your 
heart,  which  nothing  but  time  could  wear  away ;  who  would 
be  so  pursued  by  it,  as  to  be  unfit  for  business  or  for  enjoy- 
ment; who.  would  think  of  it  through  the  day,  and  it  would 
spread  a  gloomy  disquietude  over  your  waking  moments ;  who 
would  dream  of  it  at  night,  and  it  would  turn  that  bed,  which 
you  courted  as  a  retreat  from  the  torments  of  an  ever-meddling 
memory,  into  a  scene  of  restlessness. 

Oh,  tell  me,  if  there  be  any  relentings  of  pity  in  your  bosom, 
how  could  you  endure  it,  to  behold  the  agonies  of  the  dying 
man,  as,  goaded  by  pain,  he  grasps  the  cold  ground  in  convul- 
sive energy ;  or,  faint  with  the  loss  of  blood,  his  pulse  ebbs  low, 
and  the  gathering  paleness  spreads  itself  over  his  countenance ; 
or,  wrapping  himself  round  in  despair,  he  can  only  mark,  by  a 
few  feeble  quiverings,  that  life  still  lurks  and  lingers  in  his 
lacerated  body ;  or,  lifting  up  a  fa^ed  eye,  he  casts  on  you  a 
look  of  imploring  helplessness  for  that  succor  which  no  sym- 
pathy can  yield  him?  It  may  be  painful  to  dwell  thus,  in 
imagination,  on  the  distressing  picture  of  one  individual ;  but, 
multiply  it  ten  thousand  times ;  say  how  much  of  all  this  dis- 
tress has  been  heaped  together  on  a  single  field ;  give  us  the 
arithmetic  of  this  accumulated  wretchedness,  and  lay  it  before 
us,  with  all  the  accuracy  of  an  official  computation,  and,  strange 
to  tell,  not  one  sigh  is  lifted  up  among  the  crowd  of  eager  lis- 
teners, as  they  stand  on  tiptoe,  and  catch  every  syllable  of 
utterance  which  is  read  to  them  out  of  the  registers  of  death. 
Oh !  say,  what  mystic  spell  is  that  which  so  blinds  us  to  the 
suffering  of  our  brethren ;  which  deafens  to  our  ear  the  voice  of 
bleeding  humanity,  when  it  is  aggravated  by  the  shriek  of  dy- 
ing thousands  ;  which  makes  the  very  magnitude  of  the  slaugh- 
ter throw  a  softening  disguise  over  its  cruelties  and  its  horrors  ; 
which  causes  us  to  eye,  with  indifference,  the  field  that  is 


116  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

crowded  with  the  most  revolting  abominations,  and  arrests  that 
sigh  which  each  individual  would,  singly,  have  drawn  from  us, 
by  the  report  of  the  many  who  have  fallen  and  breathed  their 
last  in  agony  along  with  him  ?  P^^  Chalmees. 


88.      THE  BENEVOLENCE  OF  GOD. 

It  is  saying  much  for  the  benevolence  of  God,  to  say,  that 
it  sends  forth  wide  and  distant  emanations  over  the  surface  of 
a  territory  so  ample,  that  the  world  we  inhabjt,  lying  imbedded, 
as  it  does,  amidst  so  much  surrounding  greatness,  shrinks  into  a 
point,  that,  to  the  Universal  Eye,  might  appear  to  be  almost 
imperceptible.  But,  does  it  not  add  to  the  power  and  to  the 
perfection  of  this  Universal  Eye,  that,  at  the  very  moment  it  is 
taking  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  vast,  it  can  fasten  a  steady 
and  undistracted  attention  on  each  minute  and  separate  portion 
of  it ;  that,  at  the  very  moment  it  is  looking  at  all  worlds,  it 
can  look  most  pointedly  and  most  intelligently  to  each  of  them  ; 
that,  at  the  very  moment  it  sweeps  the  field  of  immensity,  it 
can  settle  all  the  earnestness  of  its  regards  upon  every^  distinct 
handbreadth  of  that  field  ;  that,  at  the  very  moment  at  which 
it  embraces  the  totality  of  existence,  it  can  send  a  most  thorough 
and  penetrating  inspection  into  each  of  its  details,  and  into  every 
one  of  its  endless  diversities  ?  You  cannot  fail  to  perceive  how 
much  this  adds  to  the  power  of  the  All-seeing  Eye.  Tell  me, 
then,  if  it  do  not  add  as  much  perfection  to  the  benevolence  of 
God,  that,  while  it  is  expatiating  over  the  vast  field  of  created 
things,  there  is  not  one  portion  of  the  field  overlooked  by  it ; 
that,  while  it  scatters  blessings  over  the  whole  of  an  infinite 
range,  it  causes  them  to  descend,  in  a  shower  of  plenty,  on 
every  separate  habitation ;  that,  while  his  arm  is  underneath 
and  round  about  all  worlds,  he  enters  within  the  precincts  of 
every  one  of  them,  and  gives  a  care  and  a  tenderness  to  each 
individual  of  their  teeming  population  ?  Oh  !  does  not  the 
God,  who  is  said  to  be  love,  shed  over  this  attribute  of  his  its 
finest  illustration,  when,  while  he  sits  in  the  highest  heaven, 
and  pours  out  his  fulness  on  the  whole  subordinate  domain  of 
nature  and  of  providence,  he  bows  a  pitying  regard  on  the 
very  humblest  of  his  children,  and  sends  his  reviving  Spirit 
mto  every  heart,  and  cheers,  by  his  presence,  every  home,  and 
provides  for  the  wants  of  every  family,  and  watches  every  sick- 


DK.  CHALMERS. SALLUST.  117 

bed,  and  listens  to  the  complaints  of  every  sufferer  !  And  while, 
by  his  wondrous  mind,  the  weight  of  universal  government  is 
borne,  oh  !  is  it  not  more  wondrous  and  more  excellent  still,  that 
he  feels  for  every  sorrow,  and  has  an  ear  open  to  every  prayer ! 

Dr.  Chalmeus. 


89.      THE  POWER  OF  TEMPTATION. 

Who  has  not  felt  the  workings  of  a  rivalry  within  him,  be 
tween  the  power  of  conscience  and  the  power  of  temptation? 
Who  does  not  remember  those  seasons  of  retirement,  when  the 
calculations  of  eternity  had  gotten  a  momentary  command  over 
the  heart,  and  time,  with  all  its  interests,  and  all  its  vexations, 
had  dwindled  into  insignificancy  before  them  ?  Oh  !  how  comes 
it  that,  in  the  face  of  experience,  the  whole  elevation  of  purpose, 
conceived  in  this  hour  of  better  understanding,  should  be  dissi- 
pated and  forgotten  ?  Who  is  it  that  so  pictures  out  the  ob- 
jects of  sense,  and  so  magnifies  the  range  of  their  future  enjoy- 
ment, and  so  dazzles  the  fond  and  deceived  imagination,  that,  in 
looking  onward  through  our  earthly  career,  it  appears  like  the 
vista  or  the  perspective  of  innumerable  ages  ?  He,  who  is  called 
the  god  of  this  world.  He,  who  can  dress  the  idleness  of  its 
waking  dreams  in  the  garb  of  reahty.  He,  who  can  pour  a  se- 
ducing brilliancy  over  the  panorama  of  its  fleeting  pleasures  and 
its  vain  anticipations.  He,  who  can  turn  it  into  an  instrument 
of  deceitfulness,  and  make  it  wield  such  an  absolute  ascendency 
over  all  the  affections,  that  man  becomes  the  poor  slave  of  its 
idolatries  and  its  charms  :  puts  the  authority  of  conscience,  and 
the  warnings  of  the  word  of  God,  and  the  offered  instigations  of 
the  Spirit  of  God,  and  all  the  lessons  of  calculation,  and  all  the 
wisdom  even  of  his  own  sound  and  sober  experience  away  from 

^"°^-  De.  Chalmers. 


90.      SPEECH  OF  CAIUS  MARIUS* 

I  SUBMIT  to  your  judgment,  Romans,  on  which  side  the 
advantage  lies,  when  a  comparison  is  made  betwjeen  patrician 
haughtiness  and  plebeian  experience.  The  very  actions,  which 
they  have  only  read,  I  have  partly  seen,  and  partly  myself 
achieved.  What  they  know  by  reading,  I  know  by  action. 
They  are  pleased  to  slight  my  mean  birth  ;  I  despise  their  mean 


118  SELECTIO^s^S  IN  PROSE. 

characters.  Want  of  birth  and  fortune  is  the  objection  against 
me  ;  want  of  personal  worth  against  them.  But  are  not  all 
men  of  the  same  species  ?  What  can  make  a  difference  between 
one  man  and  another,  but  the  endowments  of  the  mind  ?  For 
my  part,  I  shall  always  look  upon  the  bravest  man  as  the 
noblest  man.  If  the  patricians  have  reason  to  despise  me,  let 
them  likewise  despise  their  ancestors,  whose  nobility  was  the 
fruit  of  their  virtue.  Do  they  envy  the  honors  bestowed  upon 
me  ?  Let  them  envy,  likewise,  my  labors,  my  abstinence,  and 
the  dangers  I  have  undergone  for  my  country,  by  which  I  have 
acquired  them.  But  those  worthless  men  lead  such  a  hfe  of 
inactivity,  as  if  they  despised  any  honors  you  can  bestow, 
whilst  they  aspire  to  honors  as  if  they  had  deserved  them  by 
the  most  industrious  virtue.  They  lay  claim  to  the  rewards  of 
activity,  for  their  having  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  luxury;  yet 
none  can  be  more  lavish  than  they  are  in  the  praise  of  their 
ancestors :  and  they  imagine  they  honor  themselves  by  celebrat- 
ing their  forefathers  ;  whereas  they  do  the  very  contrary ;  for, 
as  much  as  their  ancestors  were  distinguished  for  their  virtues, 
so  much  are  they  disgraced  by  their  vices.  The  glory  of  ancestors 
casts  a  light,  indeed,  upon  their  posterity ;  but  it  only  serves  to 
show  what  the  descendants  are.  It  alike  exhibits  to  public  view 
their  degeneracy  and  their  worth.  I  own,  I  cannot  boast  of 
the  deeds  of  my  forefathers ;  but  I  hope  I  may  answer  the 
cavils  of  the  patricians,  by  standing  up  in  defence  of  what  I  have 
myself  done. 

Observe,  now,  my  countrymen,  the  injustice  of  the  patricians. 
They  arrogate  to  themselves  honors,  on  account  of  the  exploits 
done  by  their  forefathers ;  whilst  they  will  not  allow  me  the 
due  praise,  for  performing  the  very  sort  of  actions  in  my  own 
person.  He  has  no  statues,  they  cry,  of  his  family.  He  can 
trace  no  venerable  line  of  ancestors.  What  then  ?^  Is  it  matter 
of  more  praise  to  disgrace^ne's  illustrious  ancestors,  than  to 
become  illustrious  by  one's  own  good  behavior  ?  What  if  I 
can  show  no  statues  of  my  family  ?  I  can  show  the  standards, 
the  armor,  and  the  trappings  which  I  have  myself  taken  from 
the  vanquished  :  I  can  show  the  scars  of  those  wounds  which  I 
have  received  by  facing  the  enemies  of  my  country.  These  are 
my  statues.  These  are  the  honors  I  boast  of.  Not  left  me  by 
inheritance,  as  theirs  ;  but  earned  by  toil,  by  abstinence,  by 
valor ;  amidst  clouds  of  dust  and  seas  of  blood :  scenes  of 
action,  where  those  effeminate  patricians  who  endeavor,  by 
indirect  means,  to  depreciate  me  in  vour  esteem,  have  never 
dared  to  show  their  faces.  Sallubt 


DANIEL  WEBSTEK.  119 


91.      THE  PROGRESS  OF  LIBERTY. 


Mr.  President,  the  contest  for  ages  has  been  to  rescue 
liberty  from  the  grasp  of  executive  power.  Whoever  has 
engaged  in  her  sacred  cause,  from  the  days  of  the  downfall  of 
those  great  aristocracies  which  had  stood  between  the  king  and 
the  people  to  the  time  of  our  own  independence,  has  struggled 
for  the  accomplishment  of  that  single  object.  On  the  long  list 
of  the  champions  of  human  freedom,  there  is  not  one  name 
dimmed  by  the  reproach  of  advocating  the  extension  of  execu- 
tive authority ;  on  the  contrary,  the  uniform  and  steady  purpose 
of  all  such  champions  has  been  to  limit  and  restrain  it.  To 
this  end,  the  spirit  of  liberty,  growing  more  and  more  enlight- 
ened, and  more  and  more  vigorous  from  age  to  age,  has  been 
battering  for  centuries  against  the  soHd  hutments  of  the  feudal 
system.  To  this  end,  all  that  could  be  gained  from  the  impru- 
dence, snatched  from  the  weakness,  or  wrung  from  the  necessi- 
ties of  crowned  heads,  has  been  carefully  gathered  up,  secured, 
and  hoarded  as  the  rich  treasures,  the  very  jewels  of  liberty. 
To  this  end,  popular  and  representative  right  has  kept  up  its 
warfare  against  prerogative  with  various  success;  sometimes 
writing  the  history  of  a  whole  age  in  blood ;  sometimes  wit- 
nessing the  martyrdom  of  Sydneys  and  Russells  ;  often  baffled 
and  repulsed,  but  still  gaining,  on  the  whole,  and  holding  what 
it  gained  with  a  grasp  which  nothing  but  the  complete  extinction 
of  its  own  being  could  compel  it  to  relinquish.  At  length  the 
great  conquest  over  executive  power,  in  the  leading  western 
states  of  Europe,  has  been  accomplished.  The  feudal  system, 
like  other  stupendous  fabrics  of  past  ages,  is  known  only  by  the 
rubbish  which  it  has  left  behind  it.  Crowned  heads  have  been 
compelled  to  submit  to  the  restraints  of  law,  and  the  people, 
with  that  intelligence  and  that  spirit  which  make  their  voice 
resistless,  have  been  able  to  say  to  prerogative,  "  Thus  far  shalt 
thou  come,  and  no  farther."  I  need  hardly  say,  sir,  that,  into 
the  full  enjoyment  of  all  which  Europe  has  reached  only 
through  such  slow  and  painful  steps,  we  sprang  at  once,  by  the 
declaration  of  independence,  and  by  the  establishment  of  free 
representative  governments;  governments  borrowing  more  or 
less  from  the  models  of  other  free  states,  but  strengthened, 
secured,  improved  in  their  symmetry,  and  deepened  in  their 
foundation  by  those  great  men  of  our  own  country,  whose 
names  will  be  as  familiar  to  future  times  as  if  they  were  written 
on  the  arch  of  the  sky.  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^^^^_ 


120  SELECTIONS  IN  THOSE. 


92.       OUR  COUNTRY  S  ORIGIN. 

Our  fathers  came  hither  to  a  land  from  which  they  were 
never  to  return.  Hither  they  had  brought,  and  here  they  were 
to  fix  their  hopes,  their  attachments,  and  their  objects.  Some 
natural  tears  they  shed,  as  they  left  the  pleasant  abodes  of 
their  fathers,  and  some  emotions  they  suppressed  when  the 
white  cliffs  of  their  native  country,  now  seen  for  the  last  time, 
grew  dim  to  their  sight. 

A  new  existence  awaited  them  here  ;  and  when  they  saw  these 
shores,  rough,  cold,  barbarous,  and  barren,  as  then  they  were, 
they  beheld  their  country.  Before  they  reached  the  shore,  they 
had  established  the  elements  of  a  social  system,  and  at  a  much 
earlier  period  had  settled  their  forms  of  religious  worship.  At 
the  moment  of  their  landing,  therefore,  they  possessed  institu- 
tions of  government,  and  institutions  of  religion.  The  morning 
that  beamed  on  the  first  night  of  their  repose  saw  the  Pilgrims 
already  established  in  their  country.  There  were  political  insti- 
tutions, and  civil  hberty,  and  religious  worship.  Poetry  has 
fancied  nothing  in  the  wanderings  of  heroes  so  distinct  and 
characteristic.  Here  was  man  indeed  unprotected,  and  unpro- 
vided for,  on  the  shore  of  a  rude  and  fearful  wilderness  ;  but  it 
was  politic,  intelligent,  and  educated  man.  Every  thing  was 
civilized  but  the  physical  world.  Institutions  containing  in  sub- 
stance all  that  ages  had  done  for  human  government  were  es- 
tablished in  a  forest.  Cultivated  mind  was  to  act  on  unculti- 
vated nature ;  and,  more  than  all,  a  government  and  a  country 
were  to  commence  with  the  very  first  foundations  laid  under  the 
divine  light  of  the  Christian  religion.  Happy  auspices  of  a 
happy  futurity  !  Who  would  wish  that  his  country's  existence 
had  otherwise  begun  ?  Who  would  desire  the  power  of  going 
back  to  the  ages  of  fable  ?  Who  would  wish  for  an  origin  ob- 
scured in  'the  darkness  of  antiquity  ?  Who  would  wish  for 
other  emblazoning  of  his  country's  heraldry,  or  other  ornaments 
of  her  genealogy,  than  to  be  able  to  say  that  her  first  existence 
was  with  inteUigence ;  her  first  breath  the  inspirations  of  liber- 
ty ;  her  first  principle  the  truth  of  divine  religion  ? 

Daniel  "Webster. 


DANIEL  WEBSTER. HENRY   CLAY,  121 


93.      THE  SPIRIT  OF  HUMAN  LIBERTY. 

The  spirit  of  human  liberty  and  of  free  government,  nurtured 
and  grown  into  strength  and  beauty  in  America,  has  stretched 
its  course  into  the  midst  of  the  nations.  Like  an  emanation 
from  heaven,  it  has  gone  forth,  and  it  wiil  not  return  void.  It 
must  change,  it  is  fast  changing,  the  face  of  the  earth.  Our 
great,  our  high  duty,  is  to  show,  in  our  own  examples,  that  this 
spirit  is  a  spirit  of  health  as  well  as  a  spirit  of  power ;  that  its 
benignity  is  as  great  as  its  strength ;  that  its  efficiency  to  se- 
cure individual  rights,  social  relations,  and  moral  order,  is 
equal  to  the  irresistible  force  with  which  it  prostrates  principal- 
ities and  powers.  The  world,  at  this  moment,  is  regarding  us 
with  a  wiUing,  but  something  of  a  fearful  admiration.  Its  deep 
and  awful  anxiety  is  to  learn,  whether  free  states  may  be  stable 
as  well  as  free ;  whether  popular  power  may  be  trusted  as  well 
as  feared ;  in  short,"  whether  wise,  regular,  and  virtuous  self- 
government  is  a  vision  for  the  contemplation  of  theorists,  or  a 
truth,  established,  illustrated,  and  brought  into  practice,  in  the 
country  of  Washington. 

For  the  earth  which  we  inhabit,  and  the  whole  circle  of  the 
sun,  for  all  the  unborn  races  of  mankind,  we  seem  to  hold  in 
our  hands,  for  their  weal  or  woe,  the  fate  of  this  experiment. 
If  we  fail,  -who  shall  venture  the  repetition  ?  If  our  example 
shall  prove  to  be  one,  not  of  encouragement,  but  of  terror,  not 
fit  to  be  imitated,  but  fit  only  to  be  shunned,  where  else  shall 
the  world  look  for  free  models  ?  If  this  great  western  sun  be 
struck  out  of  the  firmament,  at  what  other  fountain  shall  the 
lamp  of  Hberty  hereafter  be  lighted?  What  other  orb  shall 
emit  a  ray  to  glimmer,  even,  on  the  darkness  of  the  world  ? 

Daniel  Websteb. 


94.    THE  patriot's  courage. 

There  is  a  sort  of  courage,  which,  I  frankly  confess  it,  I  do 
not  possess,  a  boldness  to  which  I  dare  not  aspire,  a  valor 
which  I  cannot  covet.  I  cannot  lay  myself  down  in  the  way  of 
the  welfare  and  happiness  of  my  country.  That  I  cannot,  I 
have  not  the  courage  to  do.  I  cannot  interpose  the  power 
with  which  I  may  be  invested,  a  power  conferred,  not  for  my 
personal  benefit,  nor  for  my  aggrandizement,  but  for  mj  coun- 

6 


122  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSE. 

try's  good,  to  check  lier  onward  marcli  to  greatness  and  glory. 
I  have  not  courage  enough.  I  am  too  cowardly  for  that.  1 
would  not,  I  dare  not,  in  the  exercise  of  such  a  trust,  lie  down, 
and  place  my  body  across  the  path  that  leads  my  country  to 
prosperity  and  happiness.  This  is  a  sort  of  courage  widely 
diflferent  from  that  which  a  man  may  display  in  his  private  con- 
duct and  personal  relations.  Personal  or  private  courage  is 
totally  distinct  from  that  higher  and  nobler  courage  which 
prompts  the  patriot  to  offer  himself  a  voluntary  sacrifice  to  his 
country's  good. 

Apprehensions  of  the  imputation  of  the  want  of  firmness 
sometimes  impel  us  to  perform  rash  and  inconsiderate  acts.  It 
is  the  greatest  courage  to  be  able  to  bear  the  imputation  of  the 
want  of  courage.  But  pride,  vanity,  egotism,  so  unamiable 
and  offensive  in  private  life,  are  vices  which  partake  of  the  char- 
acter of  crimes,  in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs.  The  unfortu- 
nate victim  of  these  passions  cannot  see  beyond  the  little,  petty, 
contemptible  circle  of  his  own  personal  interests.  All  his 
thoughts  are  withdrawn  from  his  country,  and  concentrated  on 
his  consistency,  his  firmness,  himself.  The  high,  the  exalted, 
the  sublime  emotions  of  a  patriotism  which,  soaring  towards 
heaven,  rises  far  above  all  mean,  low,  or  selfish  things,  and  is 
absorbed  by  one  soul- transporting  thought  of  the  good  and  the 
glory  of  one's  country,  are  never  felt  in  his  impenetrable  bosom. 
That  patriotism  which,  catching  its  inspirations  from  the  im- 
mortal God,  and  leaving  at  an  immeasurable  distance  below  all 
lesser,  grovelling,  personal  interests  and  feelings,  animates  and 
prompts  to  deeds  of  self-sucrifice,  of  valor,  of  devotion,  and  of 
death  itself — that  is  pubhc  virtue ;  that  is  the  noblest,  the  sub- 
limes!; of  all  public  virtues!  Henky  Clay 


95.    THE  SURVIVORS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

Let  us  not  forget  the  men  who,  when  the  conflict  of  counsel 
was  over,  stood  forward  in  that  of  arras  ;  yet  let  me  not,  by 
faintly  endeavoring  to  sketch,  do  deep  injustice  to  the  story  of 
their  exploits.  The  efforts  of  a  life  would  scarce  suffice  to  paint 
out  this  picture  in  all  its  astonishing  incidents,  in  all  its  mingled 
colors  of  sublimity  and  woe,  of  agony  and  triumph. 

But  the  age  of  commemoration  is  at  hand.  The  voice  of  oui 
fathers'  blood  begins  to  cry  to  us,  from  beneath  *iw  soil  which 


I 


EDWAKD  EVERETT.    -  123 

it  moistened.  Time  is  bringing  forward,  in  their  proper  relief 
the  men  and  the  deeds  of  that  high-souled  day.  The  genera- 
tion of  contemporary  worthies  is  gone ;  the  crowd  of  the  unsig- 
nalized  great  and  good  disappears ;  and  the  leaders  in  war  as 
well  as  council,  are  seen,  in  Fancy's  eye,  to  take  their  stations  on 
the  mount  of  remembrance. 

They  come  from  the  embattled  cliffs  of  Abraham  ;  they  start 
from  the  heaving  sods  of  Bunker's  Hill ;  they  gather  from  the 
blazing  lines  of  Saratoga  and  Yorktown,  from  the  blood-dyed 
waters  of  the  Brandywine,  from  the  dreary  snows  of  Valley 
Forge,  and  all  the  hard-fought  fields  of  the  war.  With  all  their 
wounds  and  all  their  honors,  they  rise  and  plead  with  us  for 
their  brethren  who  survive  ;  and  bid  us,  if  indeed  we  cherish  the 
memory  of  those  who  bled  in  our  cause,  to  show  our  gratitude, 
not  by  sounding  words,  but  by  stretching  out  the  strong  arm  of 
the  country's  prosperity  to  help  the  veteran  survivors  gently 
down  to  their  graves.  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^ 


96.      TERRITORIAL  EXTENSION. 

In  the  grand  and  steady  progress  of  our  country,  the  career 
of  duty  and.  usefulness  will  be  run  by  all  its  children,  under  a 
constantly  increasing  excitement.  The  voice  which,  in  the 
morning  of  life,  shall  awaken  the  patriotic  sympathy  of  the  land, 
will  be  echoed  back  by  a  community,  incalculably  swelled  in  all 
its  proportions,  before  that  voice  shall  be  hushed  in  death.  The 
writer,  by  whom  the  noble  features  of  our  scenery  shall  be 
sketched  with  a  glowing  pencil,  the  traits  of  our  romantic  early 
history  gathered  up  with  filial  zeal,  and  the  peculiarities  of  our 
character  seized  with  delicate  perception,  cannot  mount  so  en- 
tirely and  rapidly  to  success,  but  that  ten  years  will  add  new 
millions  to  the  numbers  of  his  readers.  The  American  states- 
man, the  orator,  whose  voice  is  already  heard  in  its  supremacy 
from  Florida  to  Maine,  whose  intellectual  empire  already  ex- 
tends beyond  the  limits  of  Alexander's,  has  yet  new  states  and 
new  nations  starting  into  being,  the  willing  tributaries  to  his 
sway. 

The  wilderness,  which  one  year  is  impassable,  is  traversed  the 
next  by  the  caravans  of  the  industrious  emigrants,  who  go  to 
follow  the  setting  sun,  with  the  language,  the  institutions,  and 
the  arts  of  civilized  life.     It  is  not  the  irruption  of  wild  barba- 


124  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

rians,  sent  to  visit  the  wrath  of  God  on  a  degenerate  empire ;  it 
is  not  the  inroad  of  disciphned  banditti,  marshalled  by  the  in- 
trigues of  ministers  and  kings.  It  is  the  human  family,  led  out 
to  possess  its  broad  patrimony.  The  states  and  nations  which 
are  springing  tip  in  the  valley  of  the  Missouri,  are  bound  to  us 
by  the  dearest  ties  of  a  common  language,  a  common  govern- 
ment, and  a  common  descent. 

Who  can  forget  that  this  extension  of  our  temtorial  limits  is 
the  extension  of  the  empire  of  all  we  hold  dear ;  of  our  laws, 
of  our  character,  of  the  memory  of  our  ancestors,  of  the  great 
achievements  in  our  history  ?  Whithersoever  the  sons  of  these 
states  shall  wander,  to  southern  or  western  climes,  they  will 
send  back  their  hearts  to  the  rocky  shores,  the  battle-fields,  and 
the  intrepid  councils  of  the  Atlantic  coast.  These  are  placed 
beyond  the  reach  of  vicissitude.  They  have  become  already 
matter  of  history,  of  poetry,  of  eloquence  : 

"  The  love,  where  death  has  set  his  seal, 
Nor  age  can  chill,  nor  rival  steal. 
Nor  Msehood  disavow." 

Edward  Everett. 


97.      THE  EXPERIMENT  OF  SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

We  are  summoned  to  new  energy  and  zeal  by  the  high  na- 
ture of  the  experiment  we  are  appointed  in  Providence  to  make, 
and  the  grandeur  of  the  theatre  on  which  it  is  to  be  performed. 
When  the  Old  World  aflforded  no  longer  any  hope,  it  pleased 
heaven  to  open  this  last  refuge  of  humanity.  The  attempt  has 
fcegun,  and  is  going  on,  far  from  foreign  corruption,  on  the 
broadest  scale,  and  under  the  most  benignant  prospects ;  and  it 
certainly  rests  with  us  to  solve  the  great  problem  in  human 
society,  to  settle,  and  that  forever,  that  momentous  question — 
whether  mankind  can  be  trusted  with  a  purely  popular  system  ? 
One  might  almost  think,  without  extravagance,  that  the  depart- 
ed wise  and  good  of  all  places  and  times  are  looking  down  from 
their  happy  seats  to  witness  what  shall  now  be  done  by  us ;  that 
they  who  lavished  their  treasures  and  their  blood  of  old,  who 
labored  and  suffered,  who  spake  and  wrote,  who  fought  and 
perished,  in  the  one  great  cause  of  freedom  and  truth,  are  now 
hanging,  from  their  orbs  on  high,  over  the  last  solemn  experi- 
ment of  humanity.  As  I  have  wandered  over  the  spots  once 
the  scene  of  their  labors,  and  mused  among  the  prostrate  col- 


EDWAED  EVEEETT.  125 

unins  of  tlieir  senate-houses  and  forums,  I  have  seemed  almost 
to  hear  a  voice  from  the  tombs  of  departed  ages — from  the  sep- 
ulchres of  the  nations  which  died  before  the  sight.  They  ex- 
hort us,  they  adjure  us  to  be  faithful  to  our  trust.  They  im- 
plore us,  by  the  long  trials  of  struggling  humanity ;  by  the 
blessed  memory  of  the  departed ;  by  the  dear  faith  which  has 
been  plighted,  by  pure  hands,  to  the  holy  cause  of  truth  and 
man  ;  by  the  awful  secrets  of  the  prison-houses  where  the  sons 
of  freedom  have  been  immured ;  by  the  noble  heads  which 
have  been  brought  to  the  block ;  by  the  wrecks  of  time,  by  the 
eloquent  ruins  of  nations,  they  conjure  us  not  to  quench  the 
light  which  is  rising  on  the  world.  Greece  cries  to  us,  by  the 
convulsed  lips  of  her  poisoned,  dying  Demosthenes  ;  and  Rome 
pleads  with  us  in  the  mute  persuasion  of  her  mangled  Tully. 

Edward  Everett. 


98.      REVOLUTIONARY  STRUGGLES. 

The  present  age  may  be  justly  described  as  the  age  of  revo- 
lutions. From  the  commencement  of  our  revolution  up  to  the 
present  day,  we  have  witnessed,  in  Europe  and  America,  an  un- 
interrupted series  of  important  changes.  The  thrones  of  the  Old 
World  have  been  shaken  to  their  foundations.  Every  arrival 
from  abroad  brings  us  intelligence  of  some  new  event  of  the 
highest  moment ;  some  people  rising  in  revolt  against  their  sov- 
ereign ;  some  new  constitution  proclaimed  in  one  country ;  some 
reform,  equivalent  to  a  new  constitution,  projected  in  another ; 
France  in  the  midst  of  a  dangerous  revolutionary  crisis ;  Bel- 
gium, Poland,  and  Italy  the  scenes  of  actual  hostilities  ;  England 
on  the  eve  of  commotion  :  the  whole  European  commonwealth 
apparently  plunging  again  into  the  gulf  of  general  war. 

What  is  the  object  of  all  those  desperate  struggles  ?  The 
object  of  them  is  to  obtain  an  extension  of  individual  liberty. 
Established  institutions  have  lost  their  influence  and  authority. 
Men  have  become  weary  of  submitting  to  names  and  forms 
which  they  once  reverenced.  It  has  been  ascertained — to  use 
the  language  of  Napoleon — that  a  throne  is  only  four  boards 
covered  with  velvet :  that  a  written  constitution  is  but  a  sheet 
of  parchment.  There  is,  in  short,  an  effort  making  throughout 
the  world  to  reduce  the  action  of  government  within  the  nar- 
rowest possible  limits,  and  to  give  the  widest  possible  extent  to 
individual  liberty. 


126  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

» 

Our  own  country,  though  happily  exempt,  and  God  grani 
that  it  may  long  continue  so,  from  the  troubles  of  Europe,  is 
not  exempt  from  the  influence  of  the  causes  that  produce  them. 
We  too  are  inspired  and  agitated,  and  governed  by  the  all-per- 
rading,  all-inspiring,  all-agitating,  all-governing  spirit  of  the  age. 
What  do  I  say  ?  We  were  the  first  to  feel  and  act  upon  its 
influence.  Our  revolution  was  the  first  of  the  long  series  that 
has  since  shaken  every  corner  of  Europe  and  America.  Our 
fathers  led  the  van  in  the  long  array  of  heroes,  martyrs,  and 
confessors,  who  had  fought  and  fallen  under  the  banner  of  hb- 
erty.  The  institutions  they  bequeathed  to  us,  and  under  which 
we  are  living  in  peace  and  happiness,  were  founded  on  the  prin- 
ciples which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the  present  agitation  in  Europe. 
We  have  reahzed  what  our  contemporaries  are  laboring  to  attain. 
Our  tranquillity  is  the  fruit  of  an  entire  acquiescence  in  the  spirit 
of  the  age.  We  have  reduced  the  action  of  government  within 
narrower  limits,  and  given  a  wider  scope  to  individual  liberty; 
than  any  community  that  ever  flourished  before. 

Edward  Everett 


99.     WAR  WITH  FRANCE. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  me,  sir,  in  casting  my  eyes  to  the 
future,  is  the  utter  impossibility  that  war,  should  there  unfor- 
tunately be  one,  can  have  an  honorable  termination.  The  capa- 
city of  France  to  inflict  injury  upon  us  is  ten  times  greater  than 
ours  to  inflict  injuries  on  her  ;  while  the  cost  of  the  war,  in  pro- 
portion to  her  means,  would  be  in  nearly  the  same  proportion 
less  than  ours  to  our  means.  She  has  relatively  a  small  com- 
merce to  be  destroyed,  while  we  have  the  largest  in  the  world, 
in  proportion  to  our  capital  and  population.  She  may  threaten 
and  harass  our  coast,  while  her  own  is  safe  from  assault.  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  pronounce,  sir,  that  a  war  with  France  will  be 
among  the  greatest  calamities — greater  than  a  war  with  England 
herself.  The  power  of  the  latter  to  annoy  us  may  be  greater 
than  that  of  the  former;  but  so  is  ours,  in  turn,  greater  to 
annoy  England  than  France.  Nothing  can  be  more  destructive 
to  our  commerce  and  navigation,  than  for  England  to  be  neutral, 
while  we  are  belligerent,  in  a  contest  with  such  a  country  as 
France.  The  whole  of  our  commercial  marine,  with  our  entire 
shipping,  would  pass  almost  instantly  into  the  hands  of  England. 
With  the  exception  of  our  public  armed  vessels,  there  would  be 


JOHN  0,  CALHOUN. ^LEWIS  CASS.  127 

scarcely  a  flag  of  ours  afloat  on  the  ocean.  We  grew  rich 
by  being  neutral  while  England  was  belligerent.  It  was  that 
which  so  suddenly  built  up  the  mighty  fabric  of  our  prosperity 
and  greatness.  Reverse  the  position  :  let  England  be  neutral 
while  we  are  belligerent,  and  the  sources  of  our  wealth  and 
prosperity  would  be  speedily  exhausted. 

In  a  just  and  necessary  war,  all  these  consequences  ought  to 
.be  fearlessly  met.  Though  a  friend  to  peace,  when  a  proper 
occasion  occurs  I  would  be  among  the  last  to  dread  the  con- 
sequences of  war.  I  think  the  wealth  and  blood  of  a  country 
are  well  poured  out  in  maintaining  a  just,  honorable,  and  neces- 
sary war ;  but,  in  such  a  war  as  that  with  which  the  country  is 
now  threatened — a  mere  war  of  etiquette — a  war  turning  on  a 
question  so  trivial  as  whether  an  explanation  shall  or  shall  not  be 
given — no,  whether  it  has  or  has  not  been  given,  (for  that  is  the 
real  point  on  which  the  controversy  turns,) — to  put  in  jeopardy 
the  lives  &nd  property  of  our  citizens,  and  the  liberty  and 
institutions  of  our  country,  is  worse  than  folly — is  madness.  I 
say  the  liberty  and  institutions  of  the  country.  I  hold  them  to 
be  in  imminent  danger.  Such  has  been  the  grasp  of  executive 
power,  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  resist  its  usurpations,  even 
in  a  period  of  peace ;  and  how  much  less  shall  we  be  able,  with 
the  vast  increase  of  power  and  patronage  which  a  war  must 
confer  on  that  department?  In  a  sound  condition  of  the 
country,  with  our  institutions  in  their  full  vigor,  and  every 
department  confined  to  its  proper  sphere,  we  would  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  a  war  with  France,  or  any  other  power ;  but  oui" 
system  is  deeply  diseased,  and  we  may  fear  the  worst  in  being 
involved  in  a  war  at  such  a  juncture.  j^^^^  C.  Calhoun. 


100.      THE  PRESERVATION  OF  THE  UNION. 

Sir,  I  may  well  appeal  to  those  who  find  in  the  constitution 
or  out  of  the  constitution  this  power  to  control  the  territories, 
whether  it  is  a  power  that  ought  to  be  exercised  under  existing 
circumstances. 

Here  is  one-half  of  a  great  country  which  believes,  with  a 
unanimity  perhaps  without  a  parallel  in  grave  national  questions, 
that  the  constitution  has  delegated  to  congress  no  such  power 
whatever.  And  there  is  a  large  portion  of  the  other  half  which 
entertains  similar  views ;  while  of  those  who  see  in  the  consti- 


128  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSK 

tution  sufficient  grounds  for  legislative  action,  tlierc  are  many 
who  admit- — indeed,  probably,  there  are  few  who  deny — that 
the  question  is  not  free  from  serious  doubts. 

Besides  the  Avant  of  constitutional  power,  there  are  at  least 
fourteen  states  of  this  Union  which  see  in  this  measuie  a  direct 
attack  upon  their  rights,  and  a  disregard  of  their  feelings  and 
interests,  as  injurious  in  itself  as  it  is  oflFensive  to  their  pride  of 
character,  and  incompatible  with  the  existence  of  those  bonds 
of  amity  which  are  stronger  than  constitutional  ties  to  hold  us 
together.  No  man  can  shut  his  eyes  to  the  excitement  which 
prevails  there,  and  which  is  borne  to  us  by  the  press  in  count- 
less articles  coming  from  legislative  proceedings,  from  popular 
assemblies,  and  from  all  the  sources  whence  public  opinion  is 
derived,  and  be  insensible  to  the  evil  day  that  is  upon  us.  I 
believe  this  Union  will  survive  all  the  dangers  with  which  it 
may  be  menaced,  however  trying  the  circumstances  in  which  it 
may  be  placed.  I  believe  it  is  not  destined  to  perish  till  long 
after  it  shall  have  fulfilled  the  great  mission  confided  to  it,  of 
example  and  encouragement  to  the  nations  of  the  earth  who 
are  struggling  with  the  despotism  of  centuries,  and  groping 
their  Avay  in  a  darkness  once  impenetrable,  but  where  the  light 
of  knowledge  and  freedom  is  beginning  to  disperse  the  gloom. 
But  to  maintain  this  proud  position,  this  integrity  of  political 
existence,  on  which  so  much  for  us  and  for  the  world  depends, 
we  must  carefully  avoid  those  sectional  questions  so  much  and 
so  forcibly  deprecated  by  the  father  of  his  country,  and  culti- 
vating a  spirit  of  mutual  regard,  adding  to  the  considerations 
of  interest  which  hold  us  together  the  higher  motives  of  affec- 
tion and  of  affinity  of  views  and  of  sympathies.  Sad  will  be 
the  day  when  the  first  drop  of  blood  is  shed  in  the  preservation 
of  this  Union.  That  day  need  never  come,  and  never  will  come, 
if  the  same  spirit  of  compromise  and  of  concession  by  each  to 
the  feelings  of  all,  which  animated  our  fathers,  continues  to 
animate  us  and  our  children.  But  if  powers  offensive  to  one 
portion  of  the  country,  and  of  doubtful  obligation,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  are  to  be  exercised  by  another,  and  under  circum- 
stances of  peculiar  excitement,  this  confederation  may  be  rent 
in  twain,  leaving  another  example  of  that  judicial  blindness  with 
which  God,  in  his  providence,  sometimes  visits  the  sins  of  nations. 

Lkwis  Cass. 


DAIJIEL  S.  DICKINSON.  129^ 


101.      AGRICULTURE. 

We  have  the  high  authority  of  history,  sacred  and  profane, 
for  declaring  that  agriculture  is  a  dignified  and  time- honored 
calling — ordained  and  favored  of  heaven,  and  sanctioned  by 
experience ;  and  we  are  invited  to  its  pursuit  by  the  rewards  of 
the  past  and  the  present,  and  the  rich  promises  of  the  future. 
While  the  fierce  spirit  of  war,  with  its  embattled  legions,  has, 
in  its  proud  triumphs,  "  whelmed  nations  in  blood,  and  wrapped 
cities  in  fire,"  and  filled  the  land  with  lamentation  and  mourning, 
it  has  not  brought  peace  or  happiness  to  a  single  hearth — dried 
the  tears  of  the  widows,  or  hushed  the  cries  of  the  orphans  it 
has  made — bound  up  or  soothed  one  crushed  or  broken  spirit — 
nor  heightened  the  joys  of  domestic  or  social  life  in  a  single 
bosom.  But  how  many  dark  recesses  of  the  earth  has  agricul- 
ture illumined  with  its  blessings !  How  many  firesides  has  it 
lighted  up  with  radiant  gladness  !  How  many  hearts  has  it 
made  buoyant  with  domestic  hope  !  How  often,  like  the  good 
Samaritan,  has  it  alleviated  want  and  misery,  while  the  priest 
and  Levite  of  power  have  passed  by  on  the  other  side  !  How 
many  family  altars,  and  gathering  places  of  aflfection,  has  it 
erected  !  How  many  desolate  homes  has  it  cheered  by  its  con- 
solations !  How  have  its  peaceful  and  gentle  influences  filled 
the  land  with  plenteousness  and  riches,  and  made  it  vocal  with 
praise  and  thanksgiving  ! 

It  has  pleased  the  benevolent  Author  of  our  existence  to  set 
in  boundless  profusion  before  us  the  necessary  elements  for  a 
high  state  of  cultivation  and  enjoyment.  Blessings  cluster 
around  us  like  fruits  of  the  land  of  promise,  and  science  unfolds 
her  treasures  and  invites  us  to  partake,  literally  without  money 
and  without  price.  The  propensities  of  our  nature,  as  well  as 
the  philosophy  of  our  being,  serve  to  remind  us  that  man  was 
formed  for  care  and  labor — for  the  acquisition  and  enjoyment  of 
property — for  society  and  government — to  wrestle  with  the 
elements  around  him  ;  and,  that  by  an  active  exercise  of  his 
powers  and  faculties  alone,  can  he  answer  the  ends  of  his  crea- 
tion, or  exhibit  his  exalted  attributes.  His  daily  wants,  in  all 
conditions  of  fife,  prompt  him  to  exertion,  and  the  spirit  of 
acquisition,  so  deeply  implanted  in  the  human  breast— that 
"  ruling  passion  strong  in  death,'*  so  universally  diffused 
through  the  whole  family  of  man — is  the  parent  of  that  laud- 
able enterprise  which  has  caused  the  wilderness  to  bud  and 
blossom  like  the  rose,  planted  domestic  enjoyments  in  the  lah'  of 

6* 


130  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

the  beast  of  prey,  and  transformed  the  earth  from  an  uncul- 
tivated wild  into  one  vast  storehouse  of  subsistence  and  enjoy- 
ment. What  can  be  more  acceptable  to  the  patriot  or  the 
philanthropist,  than  to  behold  the  great  mass  of  mankind  raised 
above  the  degrading  influences  of  tyranny  and  indolence,  to  the 
rational  enjoyment  of  the  bounties  of  their  Creator  ?  To  see, 
in  the  productions  of  man's  magic  powers,  the  cultivated 
country,  the  fragrant  meadow,  the  waving  harvest,  the  smiling 
garden,  and  the  tasteful  dwelling,  and  himself  chastened  by  the 
precepts  of  religion,  and  elevated  by  the  refinements  of  science, 
partaking  of  the  fruits  of  his  own  industry,  with  the  proud 
consciousness  that  he  eats  not  the  bread  of  idleness  or  fraud  ; 
that  his  gains  are  not  met  with  the  tears  of  misfortune,  nor 
wrung  from  his  fellow  by  the  devices  of  avarice  or  extortion ; 
his  joys  heightened,  his  sorrows  alleviated,  and  his  heart  rectified 
by  the  cheering  voice  and  heaven-bom  influences  of  woman. 
Well  may  he  sit  down  under  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree  without 
fear  of  molestation,  and  his  nightly  repose  be  more  quiet  than 
that  of  the  stately  monarch  of  the  East  upon  his  down  of 
cygnets,  or  the  voluptuous  Sybarite  upon  his  bed  of  roses. 

Daniel  S.  Dickinson.* 


102.      AN  APPEAL  FOR  UNION. 

Sir,  I  do  not  limit  my  appeal  to  Southern  senators,  I  address 
myself  to  senators  from  whatever  quarter  of  the  Union;  I 
appeal  to  them  as  American  senators,  and  I  adjure  them  by 
their  recollections  of  the  past — by  their  hopes  of  the  future — 
as  they  value  the  free  institutions  which  the  mercy  of  Provi- 
dence permits  us  to  enjoy — by  all  these  considerations,  I  entreat 
them  to  unite  wnth  us  in  excluding  from  the  national  councils 
this  demon  of  discord.  The  acquisition  of  territory  which  it  is 
proposed  to  accomplish  by  this  bill,  must  bring  upon  us,  with 
accumulated  force,  a  question  which  even  now  menaces  the 
permanence  of  our  Union.  I  know  the  firmness  of  your  deter- 
mination to  exert  your  constitutional  powers,  to  prevent  the 
extension  of  our  domestic  institutions.  I  know  the  various 
considerations  which  unite  to  constitute  that  determination,  and 
to  give  to  it  its  unyielding  irrevocable  character.  I  do  not 
mean  to  discuss  this  question  with  you,  still  less  to  speak  in  the 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  New  York. 


JOHN  M.  BEEKIEN. ANDKEW  P.  BUTLEK.  131 

language  of  menace.  That  is  alike  forbidden  by  my  respect  for 
myself,  for  you,  and  for  the  dignity  and  the  interests  of  my  con- 
stituents ;  but  I  entreat  you  to  listen  to  truth,  dispassionately, 
calmly  announced  to  you. 

Your  determination  to  deny  this  right  to  the  South,  is  not 
more  fixed  and  unwavering  than  theirs  to  assert  it.  You  do 
not  believe  that  Southern  men  will  silently  acquiesce  in — will 
tamely  submit  to  the  denial  to  them,  of  that  which  in  their 
deliberate  judgment  is  the  common  right  of  all  the  people  of  the 
United  States.  If  we  have  a  right  to  acquire  territory — if  that 
acquisition  be  made  by  the  common  effort  of  all  the  states — by 
the  blood  and  treasure  of  all — if  all  have  a  common  right  to 
share,  what  all  have  united  to  acquire,  then  the  exclusion  of  the 
South  must  result  in  one  of  two  things.  They  must  give  an 
unexampled  manifestation  of  their  devotion  to  the  bond  of  our 
Federal  Union,  by  submitting  to  this  exclusion,  or  sadly,  though 
resolutely  determine,  at  whatever  hazard,  and  even  against  you 
their  bi*others  in  that  sacred  bond,  to  assert  and  maintain  their 
rights.  You  know  them  well  enough  to  know,  which  of  these 
alternatives  they  will  adopt.  I  do  most  earnestly  hope  that  w*e 
may  never  be  brought  to  so  fearful  a  crisis.  The  danger  mena- 
ces us  even  now ;  but  the  patriotism  and  intelligence  of  the 
American  people  will,  I  trust,  avert  it :  will  teach  us,  and  will 
teach  you,  that  our  safety,  that  your  safety,  that  the  common 
safety  of  all  alike,  forbid  the  acquisition  of  territory,  if  we  would 
continue  to  enjoy  the  precious  legacy  which  has  been  trans- 
mitted to  us — a  rich,  almost  boundless  domain,  capable  of 
ministering  to  all  our  wants,  of  gratifying  all  our  desires,  and 
a  glorious  constitution,  which  a  world  in  arms  would  vainly 
assail  while  we  rally  round  it  in  our  united  strength. 

John  M.  Berrien.* 


103.      THE  STATE  OF  VIRGINIA. 

Sir,  we  often  find  that  it  is  peculiar  to  the  minds  of  some  per- 
sons who  do  not  practise  virtue  very  much,  to  be  constant  in  their 
recommendations  of  it  to  others ;  it  is  the  tribute  which  hypoc- 
risy pays  to  virtue.  Sir,  there  are  some  on  this  floor  who  say 
that  they  are  above  the  constitution,  I  do  not  know  how  far 
they  are  above  it,  or  how  much  better  they  are  than  those  who 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Georgia. 


132  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

made  it.  Those  who  make  so  many  professions  of  conscience, 
generally  have  the  shortest  performances  \inder  them.  There 
are  those  who  are  continually  looking  into  other  people's  con- 
cerns, and  making  comparisons  and  parallels  for  no  practical 
purpose.  We  yesterday  heard  a  parallel  drawn  by  the  sena- 
tor from  Connecticut,  between  the  states  of  New  York  and 
Virginia,  with  a  view  of  illustrating  the  unfavorable  effects  of 
Southern  institutions.  I  thought  such  a  comparison  was  very 
unnecessary,  and  that  any  one  might  have  said  to  that  sena- 
tor, that  if  Virginia  had  occasion  to  be  proud  of  any  thing,  it 
was  of  her  institutions — not  only  as  they  had  exhibited  their 
influence  in  her  own  borders,  but  wherever  her  sons  had  gone. 
Sir,  if  her  fields  are  washed  into  gullies,  let  it  be  remembered 
that  the  crops  which  have  grown  upon  them  have  raised  states- 
men and  heroes.  She  may  not  boast  of  crowded  villages  and 
densely  settled  farms,  but  wherever  they  have  been  settled,  they 
have  been  settled  to  good  purpose  ;  and  though  they  do  not 
possess  the  particular  kind  of  prosperity  which  may  have 
njarked  some  of  the  Northern  states,  whenever  she  was  disposed 
to  exhibit  her  wealth,  like  Cornelia  when  asked  to  show  her 
jewels,  she  could  point  to  her  children. 

Sir,  I  wish  to  make  no  corapf^risons,  but,  if  they  are  made, 
gentlemen  will  find  that  there  have  been  more  men  of  talent 
and  virtue  in  this  senate  from  the  state  of  Virginia,  than  from 
any  oth  3r  state  in  the  Union.  ^^^^^  p_  Butlicb.* 


104.     THE    SUSPENSION  OF  DIPLOMATIC   RELATIONS  WITH   AUSTRIA. 

Mr.  President,  I  am  opposed  to  this  proposition,  for,  sup- 
posing it  to  be  founded  upon  ti-ue  principles,  its  appHcation  is 
partial,  unequal,  and  in  that  sense,  is  unjust.  This  objection 
has  already  been  made,  and  a  proposition,  I  believe,  is  now 
pending  to  add  Russia  to  the  list  of  the  courts  with  which  our 
diplomatic  relations  are  to  be  suspended.  Assuredly  there 
would  be  as  much  reason  for  thus  punishing  Russia  as  Austna ; 
for  the  offence  is  the  same,  or  even  worse.  What  shall  we  say 
to  France,  too,  if  we  are  to  assume  this  general  supervision  of 
the  conduct  of  foreign  governments  ?     Is  there  nothing  in  the 

*  U.  S>  Senator  from  Soiith  Carolina. 


K.  M.  T.  HDNTEK.  135 

course  of  the  French  government  in  Italy  to  shock  our  repub- 
lican sensibilities  ?  Have  they  not  interfered  against  the  rights 
of  man  and  popular  liberty,  according  to  our  conception  of  the 
terms?  We  ought,  then,  in  order  to  be  just,  to  suspend  our 
diplomatic  relations  with  all  of  these  courts — Austria,  Russia, 
and  France.  I  am  not  sure,  sir,  tha,t  the  list  would  stop  here, 
if  I  chose  to  pursue  this  examination  further.  But  it  is  unne- 
cessary for  my  purpose  to  continue  the  investigation ;  I  have 
said  enough  to  show  the  inequality  of  the  proposition  as  it  now 
stands.  But  I  have  a  third  objection  to  this  resolution,  which 
is  founded  on  the  fact  that  it  casts  reproach  on  our  history  and 
past  conduct  towards  foreign  governments — a  reproach  which, 
in  my  opinion,  has  not  been  deserved  by  the  sages  and  patriots 
who  have  gone  before  us,  or,  indeed,  by  any  of  those  who  have 
hitherto  been  responsible  for  the  course  of  our  government.  If, 
as  this  resolution  assumes,  it  is  our  duty  to  observe  the  conduct 
of  foreign  governments  towards  their  own  subjects,  and  to  pun- 
ish them  in  this  mode  for  acts  of  oppression  towards  their  citi- 
zens, or  for  violations  of  the  rights  of  man,  according  to  our 
conception  of  their  nature;  then,  sir,  in  times  past  we  have 
grievously  failed  in  the  discharge  of  our  obligations.  From  the 
institution  of  our  government  up  to  this  period,  how  often  ought 
we  not  to  have  exercised  this  power  in  the  discharge  of  such 
duties !  With  how  many  governments  should  we  not  have  sus- 
pended such  relations  at  the  time  of  the  partition  of  Poland ! 
With  how  many  during  the  aggressive  wars  of  Napoleon ! 
Which  of  the  European  nations  would  have  escaped  after  the 
treaty  of  Vienna,  and  during  the  existence  of  the  Holy  Alli- 
ance ?  Why,  sir,  we  could  not  have  recalled  ministers  fast 
enough  about  that  period  to  have  signalized  our  abhorrence  of 
the  daily  violation  of  the  rights  of  man,  in  the  arbitrary  disrup- 
tion of  territories  long  united  together,  and  the  forced  connec- 
tion of  people  to  governments  to  which  they  were  averse.  I 
should  waste  the  time  of  the  senate,  if  I  were  to  attempt  the 
enumeration  of  the  cases  in  which  we  have  failed  to  act  as  this 
resolution  assumes  we  ought  to  have  done.  How  often  should 
we  have  suspended  relations  with  France,  with  England !  In- 
deed, -ft^hat  government  is  there  in  the  civilized  world  with  whom 
we  should  not  have  suspended  our  relations  at  some  period  of 
our  history,  according  to  the  principles  now  laid  down  V  Per- 
haps we  might  have  preserved  diplomatic  relations  with  the 
repubhc  of  San  Marino,  by  way  of  showing  that  it  was  possible 
to  maintain  such  a  connection  with  somebody,  according  to  the 
principles  of  action  which  we  had  laid  down  upon  such  subjects. 


134  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

Sir,  if  this  resolution  be  right,  then  our  government  has  been 
grievously  wrong  in  its  past  course  in  relation  to  these  matters. 
To  vote  for  this  resolution  is  to  record  that  censure.  For  one, 
I  am  not  willing  to  do  it.  I  believe  they  acted  wisely  and  well. 
They  deserved  the  thanks  of  mankind  for  their  foreign  policy, 
which  has  won,  as  I  had  supposed,  universal  respect. 

R.  M.  T.  HUNTEE.* 


105.     THE  SOUTH. 

Sir,  I  can -but  consider  it  as  a  tribute  of  respect  to  the  char- 
acter for  candor  and  sincerity  which  the  South  maintains,  that 
every  movement  which  occurs  in  the  Southern  states  is  closely 
scrutinized  ;  but  what  shall  we  think  of  the  love  for  the  Union 
of  those  in  whom  this  brings  no  corresponding  change  of  con- 
duct, who  continue  the  wanton  aggressions  which  have  pro- 
duced and  justify  the  action  they  deprecate  ?  Is  it  well,  is  it 
wise,  is  it  safe,  to  disregard  these  manifestations  of  public  dis- 
pleasure, though  it  be  the  displeasure  of  a  minority  ?  Is  it 
proper,  or  prudent,  or  respectful,  when  a  representative,  in 
accordance  with  the  known  will  of  his  constituents,  addresses 
you  the  language  of  solemn  warning,  in  conformity  to  his  duty 
to  the  constitution,  the  Union,  and  to  his  own  conscience,  that 
bis  course  should  be  arraigned  as  the  declaration  of  ultra  ana 
dangerous  opinions?  If  these  warnings  were  received  in  the 
spirit  they  are  given,  it  would  augur  better  for  the  country.  It 
would  give  hopes  which  are  now  denied  us,  if  the  press  of  the 
country,  that  great  lever  of  public  opinion,  would  enforce  these 
warnings,  and  bear  them  to  every  cottage,  instead  of  heaping 
abuse  upon  those  whose  ease  would  prompt  them  to  silence — 
whose  speech,  therefore,  is  evidence  of  sincerity.  Lightly  and 
loosely  representatives  of  Southern  people  have  been  denounced 
as  disunionists  by  that  portion  of  the  Northern  press  which 
most  disturbs  the  harmony  and  endangers  the  perpetuity  of  the 
Union.  Such,  even,  has  been  my  own  case,  though  tire  man 
does  not  breathe  at  whose  door  the  charge  of  disunion  might  not 
as  well  be  laid  as  at  mine.  The  son  of  a  revolutionary  soldier, 
attachment  to  this  Union  was  among  the  first  lessons  of  my 
childhood  •  bred  to  the  service  of  my  country  from  boyhood,  to 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Virginia. 


JEFFEESON   DAVIS.  135 

mature  age  I  wore  its  uniform.  Through  the  brightest  portion 
of  my  hfe  I  was  accustomed  to  see  our  flag,  historic  emblem  of 
the  Union,  rise  with  the  rising  and  fall  with  the  setting  sun.  I 
look  upon  it  now  with  the  affection  of  early  love,  and  seek  to 
maintain  and  preserve  it  by  a  strict  adherence  to  the  constitu- 
tion, from  which  it  had  its  birth,  and  by  the  nurture  of  which 
its  stars  have  come  so  much  to  outnumber  its  original  stripes. 
Shall  that  flag,  which  has  gathered  fresh  glory  in  every  war, 
and  become  more  radiant  still  by  the  conquest  of  peace — shall 
that  flag  now  be  torn  by  domestic  faction,  and  trodden  in  the 
dust  by  petty  sectional  rivalry  ?  Shall  we  of  the  South,  who 
have  shared  equally  with  you  all  your  toils,  all  your  dangers, 
all  your  adversities,  and  who  equally  rejoice  in  your  prosperity 
and  your  fame ;  shall  we  be  denied  those  benefits  guarantied 
by  our  compact,  or  gathered  as  the  common  fruits  of  a  com- 
mon country?  If  so,  self-respect  requires  that  we  should 
assert  thera ;  and,  as  best  we  may,  maintain  that  which  we 
could  not  surrender  without  losing  your  respect  as  well  as  our 
own. 

If,  sir,  this  spirit  of  sectional  aggrandizement  shall  cause  the 
disunion  of  these  states,  the  last  chapter  of  our  history  will  be 
a  sad  commentary  upon  the  justice  and  the  wisdom  of  our  peo- 
ple. That  this  Union,  replete  with  blessings  to  its  own  citizens, 
and  diffusive  of  hope  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  should  fall  a  vic- 
tim to  a  selfish  aggrandizement,  and  a  pseudo  philanthropy, 
prompting' one  portion  of  the  Union  to  war  upon  the  domestic 
rights  and  peace  of  another,  would  be  a  deep  reflection  on  the 
good  sense  and  patriotism  of  our  day  and  generation. 

Sir,  I  ask  Northern  senators  to  make  the  case  their  own — 
to  carry  to  their  own  fireside  the  idea  of  such  intrusion  and 
offensive  discrimination  as  is  offered  to  us — realize  these  irrita- 
tions, so  galling  to  the  humble,  so  intolerable  to  the  haughty, 
and  wake,  before  it  is  too  late,  from  the  dream  that  the  South 
will  tamely  submit.  Measure  the  consequences  to  iis  of  your 
assumption,  and  ask  yourselves  whether,  as  a  free,  honorable, 
and  brave  people,  you  would  submit  to  it  ? 

It  is  essentially  the  characteristic  of  the  chivalrous,  that  they 
never  speculate  upon  the  fears  of  any  man,  and  I  trust  that  no 
such  speculations  will  be  made  upon  either  the  condition  or  the 
supposed  weakness  of  the  South.  They  will  bring  sad  disap- 
pointments to  those  Avho  indulge  them.  Rely  upon  her  devo- 
tion to  the  Union ;  rely  upon  the  feehng  of  fraternity  she  inher- 
ited and  has  never  failed  to  manifest ;  rely  upon  the  nationality 
and  freedom  from  sedition  which  has  in  all  ages  characterized 


136  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

an  agricultural  people ;  give  her  justice,  sheer  justice,  r^nd  the 

reliance  will  never  fail  you.  t  t^       * 

•z  Jeffekson  Davis.* 


106.      THE  CALIFORNIA  GOLD  MINES. 

1  AM  a  friend  to  gold  currency,  but  not  to  gold  mining.  That 
is  a  pursuit  which  the  experience  of  nations  shows  to  be  both 
impoverishing  and  demoralizing  to  a  nation.  I  regret  that  we 
have  these  mines  in  California ;  but  they  are  there,  and  I  am 
for  getting  rid  of  them  as  soon  as  possible.  Make  the  working 
as  free  as  possible.  Instead  of  hoarding,  and  holding  them  up, 
and  selling  in  driblets,  lay  them  open  to  industry  and  enterprise. 
Lay  them  open  to  natural  capital,  to  labor,  to  the  man  that  has 
stout  arms  and  a  willing  heart.  Give  him  a  fair  chance.  Give 
all  a  fair  chance.  It  is  no  matter  who  digs  up  the  gold,  or 
where  it  goes.  The  digger  will  not  cat  it,  and  it  will  go  where 
commerce  will  carry  it.  The  nations  which  have  industry, 
which  have  agriculture,  commerce,  and  manufactures,  they  will 
get  the  gold.  Not  sales,  but  permits,  is  the  proper  mode  to 
follow,  and  the  only  practicable  mode.  People  are  going  to 
California  to  dig,  and  dig  they  will.  A  wise  legislation  would 
regulate,  not  frustrate  their  enterprise.  Permits  would  put 
them  on  the  side  of  the  law,  for  it  would  give  them  protection 
and  security ;  sales  and  hoarding  would  put  them  in  opposition 
to  the  law,  and  they  would  disregard  it.  Sir,  this  is  a  case  in 
which  the  lawgiver  must  go  with  the  current ;  and  then  he  may 
regulate  it :  if  he  goes  against  the  current,  his  law  will  be  nuga- 
tory, and  his  authority  will  be  despised.  The  current  is  for 
hunting,  and  finding,  and  digging ;  permits  follow  this  current, 
and  by  granting  them,  the  legislator  may  control  and  regulate 
the  current. 

If  you  want  revenue,  raise  it  from  the  permits,  a  small  sum 
for  each,  and  upon  the  coinage.  In  that  way  it  would  be  prac- 
ticable to  raise  as  much  as  ought  to  be  raised.  But  revenue  is 
no  object  compared  to  the  great  object  of  clearing  the  ground  of 
this  attraction,  which  puts  an  end  to  all  regular  industry,  and 
compared  to  the  object  of  putting  the  gold  into  circulation. 
I  care  not  who  digs  it  up.  I  want  it  dug  up.  I  want  the  fe- 
ver to  Be  over.  I  want  the  raining  finished.  Let  all  work  that 
mil.     Let  them  ravage  the  earth,  extirpate  and  exterminate  the 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Mississippi. 


THOMAS  II.  BENTON. GOVEENEUK  MORKIS.      137 

mines.  Then  the  sober  industry  will  begin  which  enriches  and 
ennobles  a  nation.  Work  as  hard  as  we  may,  we  cannot  finish 
soon.  These  gold  indications  cover  more  than  two  thousand 
miles.  They  are  in  New  Mexico — on  the  waters  of  the  Middle 
Colorado — on  the  mountains  between  the  Rio  del  Norte  and  the 
Rio  Colorado— in  the  Sierra  Nevada — and  in  the  prolongations 
of  that  mountain,  both  north  and  south. 

Is  all  this  extent  of  country  and  of  treasure  to  be  hoarded 
and  guarded  by  the  government? — held  up  from  use  until 
examined  and  valued  by  a  mineralogist,  surveyed  by  surveyors, 
and  then  sold  out  in  two-acre  patches  ?  Is  this  vast  region  to 
be  hoarded  and  guarded,  as  a  thing  too  precious  for  the  people  ? 
Is  it  to  be  the  Hesperian  fruit,  guarded  by  dragons  from  profane 
touch  ?  And  if  so,  where  are  the  dragons  to  come  from  which 
are  to  guard  it  ?  Certain  it  is,  our  dragoons  will  not  do  for  this 
guard.  I  am  against  the  whole  scheme  of  hoarding  these 
mines,  or  endeavoring  to  confine  their  product  to  their  own 
country.  I  am  not  for  trying  to  stop  it  from  going  elsewhere. 
Let  it  go  where  it  Avill :  like  water,  it  will  find  its  level. 

Thomas  H.  Benton.* 


107.      THE  FEDERAL  COMPACT. 

Our  situation  is  peculiar.  At  present,  our  national  compact 
can  prevent  a  state  from  acting  hostilely  towards  the  general 
interest.  But,  let  this  compact  be  destroyed,  and  each  state 
becomes  vested  instantaneously  with  absolute  sovereignty.  Is 
there  no  instance  of  a  similar  situation  to  be  found  in  history  ? 
Look  at  the  states  of  Greece  ?  By  their  divisions  they  became 
at  first  victims  of  the  ambition  of  Philip,  and  were  at  length 
swallowed  up  in  the  Roman  empire.  Are  we  to  form  an  excep- 
tion to  the  general  principles  of  human  nature,  and  to  all  the 
examples  of  history  ?  And  are  the  maxims  of  experience  to 
become  false,  when  applied  to  our  fate  ? 

Some,  indeed,  flatter  themselves  that  our  destiny  will  be  like  that 
of  Rome.  But  we  have  not  that  strong  aristocratic  arm  which  can 
seize  a  wretched  citizen,  scourged  almost  to  death  by  a  remorse- 
less creditor,  turn  him  into  the  ranks,  and  bid  him,  as  a  soldier, 
bear  our  eagle  in  triumph  round  the  globe.  I  hope  to  God  we 
«ihall  never  have  such  an  abominable  institution.     But  what.  1 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  Missouri. 


138  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

ask,  will  be  the  situation  of  these  states,  organized  as  they  no^w 
are,  if,  by  the  dissolution  of  our  national  compact,  they  be  left 
to  themselves  ?  What  is  the  probable  result  ?  We  shall  eithet 
be  yictims  of  foreign  intrigue,  and,  split  into  factions,  fall  under 
the  domination  of  a  foreign  power ;  or  else,  after  the  misery  and 
torment  of  civil  war,  become  the  subjects  of  a  usurping  military 
despot.  What  but  this  compact,  what  but  this  specific  part  of 
it,  can  save  us  from  ruin  ?  The  judicial  power — that  fortress  of 
the  constitution — is  now  to  be  overturned.  Yes,  with  honest 
Ajax,  I  would  not  only  throw  a  shield  before  it — I  would  build 
around  it  a  wall  of  brass.  Govzeneuu  Moukis  * 


108.      PEACE  AND  NATIONAL  HONOR. 

Mr.  President,  my  object  is  peace.  I  will  not  pretend,  like 
my  honorable  colleague,  to  describe  to  you  the  waste,  the 
ravages,  and  the  horrors  of  war.  I  have  not  the  same  har- 
monious periods,  nor  the  same  musical  tones ;  neither  shall  I 
boast  of  Christian  charity,  nor  attempt  to.  display  that  ingenuous 
glow  of  benevolence  so  decorous  to  the  cheek  of  youth,  which 
gave  a  vivid  tint  to  every  sentence  he  uttered,  and  was,  if  pos- 
sible, as  impressive  even  as  his  eloquence.  But  though  we 
possess  not  the  same  pomp  of  words,  our  hearts  are  not  insen- 
sible to  the  woes  of  humanity.  We  can  feel  for  the  misery  of 
plundered  towns,  the  conflagration  of  defenceless  villages,  and 
the  devastation  of  cultured  fields.  Turning  from  these  features 
of  general  distress,  we  can  enter  the  abodes  of  private  afiliction, 
and  behold  the  widow  weeping  as  she  traces,  in  the  pledges  of 
connubial  affection,  the  resemblance  of  him  whom  she  has  lost 
forever.  We  see  the  aged  matron  bending  over  the  ashes  of 
her  son.  He  was  her  darling,  for  he  was  generous  and  brave, 
and,  therefore,  his  spirit  led  him  to  the  field  in  defence  of  his 
country.  Hard,  hard  indeed  must  be  that  heart  which  can  be 
Insensible  to  scenes  like  these,  and  bold  the  man  who  dares 
present  to  the  Almighty  Father  a  conscience  crimsoned  with 
the  blood  of  his  children. 

Yes,  sir,  we  wish  for  peace ;  but  how  is  that  blessing  to  be 
preserved  ?  In  my  opinion,  there  is  nothing  worth  fighting  for 
but  national  honor ;    for  in  the  national  honor  is  involved  the 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  New  York. 


GOVEENEUE  MOEEIS. — ^.TOIIN  A.  DIX.  139 

national  independence.  I  know  that  prudence  may  force  a  wise 
government  to  conceal  the  sense  of  indignity  ;  but  the  insult 
should  be  engraven  on  tablets  of  brass  with  a  pencil  of  steel. 
And  when  that  time  and  change,  which  happen  to  all,  shall 
bring  forward  the  favorable  moment,  then  let  the  avenging  arm 
strike  home.     It  is  bv  avowins:  and  maintaininjj  this  stern  prin- 

•     let  *'  1 

ciple  of  honor,  that  peace  can  be  preserved. 

GovERNEUR  Morris. 


109.      THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  SCIENCE. 

Whatever  may  be  the  issue  of  the  experiments  now  in  pro- 
gress in  government,  in  science,  and  in  the  useful  arts,  upon  the 
external  policy  or  the  internal  condition  of  nations ;  whatever 
obstacles  may  for  a  time  oppose  and  defeat  the  triumph  of 
enlightened  principles  ;  whether  ancient  prejudices  shall  again 
revive  and  ripen  into  collision,  bringing  in  their  train  the  con- 
quest of  provinces,  the  overthrow  of  armies,  the  deposition  of 
monarchs,  and  the  abolition  of  thrones  ;  or  whether  a  period  of 
enduring  tranquillity  has  even  now  begun  to  dawn  upon  the 
inhabitants  of  the  earth  ; — happily,  the  cause  of  science  fears  no 
impediment,  either  from  political  agitation  or  discord.  Her 
triumphs,  as  rapidly  as  they  are  achieved,  are,  by  the  instru- 
mentahty  of  the  press,  written  down  in  all  languages,  and  the 
record  treasured  up  in  a  thousand  places  of  safety.  If  any 
deluge  of  Vandalism  shall  overwhelm  and  bury  in  ruins  the 
stores  of  knowledge  which  she  has  accumulated  in  one  quarter 
of  the  globe,  the  same  treasures  will  be  preserved  in -others. 
Thus  will  the  point  at  which,  in  all  future  time,  the  researches 
and  discoveries  of  each  generation  shall  have  their  termination, 
become  the  starting- place  of  their  successors  in  the  career  of 
improvement.  Nor  has  she  any  thing  to  fear  from  dissension 
among  her  own  followers.  Her  empire  is  without  bounds. 
Her  domains  know  no  geographical  demarkations.  Her  votaries, 
wherever  they  are  to  be  found,  are  citizens  of  the  same  great 
commonwealth  ;  pursuing  the  same  high  objects,  obeying  the 
'^ame  honorable  impulses  ;  distracted  by  no  party  feuds ;  ambi- 
tious of  no  other  triumphs  but  to  carry  the  victorious  arms  of 
knowledge  and  truth  into  the  dominions  of  ignorance  and  error. 

John  A.  Dix.* 

*  U.  S.  Senator  froui  New  York. 


140  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 


110.      THE  INFLUENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

The  influence  of  Christianity  upon  the  pohtical  condition  ol 
mankind,  though  silent  and  almost  imperceptible,  has  doubtless 
been  one  of  the  most  powerful  instruments  of  its  amelioration. 
The  principles  and  the  practical  rules  of  conduct  which  it  pre- 
scribes ;  the  doctrine  of  the  natural  equality  of  men,  of  a  com- 
mon origin,  a  common  responsibility,  and  a  common  fate ;  the 
lessons  of  humiUty,  gentleness,  and  forbearance  which  it  teaches, 
are  as  much  at  war  with  political,  as  they  are  with  all  moral, 
injustice,  oppression,  and  wrong.  During  century  after  century, 
excepting  for  brief  intervals,  the  world  too  often  saw  the  beauty 
of  the  system  marred  by  the  fiercest  intolerance  and  the  grossest 
depravation.  It  has  been  made  the  confederate  of  monarchs 
in  cari-ying  out  schemes  of  oppression  and  fraud.  Under  its 
banner,  armed  multitudes  have  been  banded  together,  and  led 
on  by  martial  prelates  to  wars  of  desolation  and  revenge.  Per- 
petrators of  the  blackest  crimes  have  purchased  from  its  chief 
ministers  a  mercenary  immunity  from  punishment. 

But  nearly  two  thousand  years  have  passed  away,  and  no 
trace  is  left  of  the  millions  who,  under  the  influence  of  bad  pas- 
sions, have  dishonored  its  holy  precepts ;  or  of  the  far  smaller 
number  who,  in  seasons  of  general  depravation,  have  drunk  its 
current  of  living  water  on  the  solitary  mountain  or  in  the  hollowv 
rock.  Its  simple  maxims,  outliving  them  all,  are  silently  work- 
ing out  a  greater  revolution  than  any  which  the  world  has  seen ; 
and  long  as  the  period  may  seem  since  its  doctrines  were  first 
announced,  it  is  almost  imperceptible  when  regarded  as  one  of 
the  divisions  of  that  time  which  is  of  endless  duration.  To  use 
the  language  of  an  eloquent  and  philosophical  writer,  "The 
movements  of  Providence  are  not  restricted  to  narrow  bounds  : 
it  is  not  anxious  to  deduce  to-day  the  consequences  of  the  pre- 
mises it  laid  down  yesterday.  It  may  defer  this  for  ages,  till 
the  fulness  of  time  shall  come.  Its  logic  will  not  be  less  con- 
clusive for  reasoning  slowly.  Providence  moves  through  time 
as  the  gods  of  Homer  through  space — it  makes  a  step,  and 
years  have  rolled  away.  How  long  a  time,  how  many  circum- 
stances intervened  before  the  regeneration  of  the  moral  powers 
of  man  by  Christianity  exercised  its  great,  its  legitimate  function 
upon  his  social  condition  !    yet  who  can  doubt  or  mistake  j*a 

P^^^^-"*  JoHNA.Dix.i 

*  Quizot.  t  U  S.  Senator  from  New  York. 


LEVI  WOODBUEY.  141 


111.      INTELLIGENCE  A  NATIONAL  SAFEGUARD. 

Our  history  constantly  points  her  finger  to  a  most  efficient 
resource,  and  indeed  to  the  only  elixir,  to  secure  a  long  hfe  to 
any  popular  government,  in  increased  attention  to  useful  educa- 
tion and  sound  morals,  with  the  wise  description  of  equal 
measures  and  just  practices  they  inculcate  on  every  leaf  of 
recorded  time.  Before  their  alliance,  the  spirit  of  misrule  will 
always,  in  time,  stand  rebuked,  and  those  who  worship  at  the 
shrine  of  unhallowed  ambition,  must  quail. 

Storms,  in  the  political  atmosphere,  may  occasionally  happen 
by  the  encroachments  of  usurpers,  the  corruption  or  intrigues 
of  demagogues,  or  in  the  expiring  agonies  of  faction,  or  by  the 
sudden  fury  of  popular  phrensy  ;  but,  with  the  restraints  and 
salutary  influences  of  the  allies  before  described,  these  storms 
will  purify  as  healthfully  as  they  often  do  in  the  physical  world, 
and  cause  the  tree  of  liberty,  instead  of  falling,  to  strike  its  roots 
deeper. 

In  this  struggle,  the  enlightened  and  moral  possess  also  a 
power,  auxiliary  and  strong,  in  the  spirit  of  the  age,  which 
is  not  only  with  them,  but  onward,  in  every  thing  to  ameliorate 
or  improve. 

When  the  struggle  assumes  the  form  of  a  contest  with  power, 
in  all  its  subtlety,  or  with  undermining  and  corrupting  wealth, 
as  it  sometimes  may,  rather  than  with  turbulence,  sedition,  or 
open  aggression  by  the  needy  and  desperate,  it  will  be  indispen- 
sable to  employ  still  greater  diligence ;  to  cherish  earnestness 
of  purpose,  resoluteness  in  conduct ;  to  apply  hard  and  constant 
blows  to  real  abuses,  and  encourage  not  only  bold,  free,  and 
original  thinking,  but  determined  action. 

In  such  a  cause,  our  fathers  were  men  whose  hearts  were  not 
accustomed  to  fail  them,  through  fear,  however  formidable  the 
obstacles.  Wb  are  not,  it  is  trusted,  such  degenerate  descend- 
ants, as  to  prove  recreant,  and  fail  to  defend,  with  gallantry  and 
firmness  as  unflinching,  all  which  we  have  either  derived  from 
them,  or  since  added  to  the  rich  inheritance. 

At  such  a  crisis,  therefore,  and  in  such  a  cause,  yielding  to 
neither  consternation  nor  despair,  may  we  not  all  profit  by  the 
vehement  exhortations  of  Ciceroto  Atticus?  "If  you  are  asleep, 
awake ;  if  you  are  standing,  move ;  if  you  are  moving,  run ;  if 
you  are  running,  fly  !" 

All  these  considerations  warn  us — the  gravestones  of  almost 
every  former  republic  warn  us — that  a  high  standard  of  moral 


14:2  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

rectitude,  as  well  as  of  intelligence,  is  quite  as  indispensable  tc 
communities,  in  their  public  doings,  as  to  individuals,  if  they 
would  escape  from  either  degeneracy  or  disgrace. 

Levi  Woodbury  * 


112.      THE  PERMANENCE  OF  AMERICAN  LIBERTY. 

The  election  of  a  chief  magistrate  by  the  mass  of  the  peopld 
of  an  extensive  community,  was,  to  the  most  enhghtened  nations 
of  antiquity,  a  political  impossibility.  Destitute  of  the  art  of 
printing,  they  could  not  have  introduced  the  representative 
principle  into  their  political  systems,  even  if  they  had  under- 
stood it.  In  the  very  nature  of  things,  that  principle  can  only 
be  coextensive  with  popular  intelligence.  In  this  respect,  the 
art  of  printing,  more  than  any  invention  since  the  creation  of 
man,  is  destmed  to  change  and  elevate  the  political  condition  of 
society.  It  has  given  a  new  impulse  to  the  energies  of  the 
human  mind,  and  opens  new  and  brilliant  destinies  to  modern 
republics,  which  were  utterly  unattainable  by  the  ancients.  The 
existence  of  a  country  population,  scattered  over  a  vast  extent 
of  territory,  as  intelligent  as  the  population  of  the  cities,  is  a 
phenomenon  which  was  utterly  and  necessarily  unknown  to  the 
free  states  of  antiquity.  All  the  intelligence  which  controlled 
the  destiny  and  upheld  the  dominion  of  republican  Rome,  was 
confined  to  the  walls  of  the  great  city.  Even  when  her  domin- 
ion extended  beyond  Italy  to  the  utmost  known  limits  of  the 
inhabited  world,  the  city  was  the  exclusive  seat  both  of  intelH- 
gence  and  empire.  Without  the  art  of  printing,  and  the  con- 
seque:it  advantages  of  a  free  press,  that  habitual  and  incessant 
action  of  mind  upon  mind,  which  is  essential  to  all  human  im- 
provement, could  no  more  exist,  among  a  numerous  and  scattered 
population,  than  the  commerce  of  disconnected  continents  could 
traverse  the  ocean  without  the  art  of  navigation.  Here,  then, 
is  the  source  of  our  superiority,  and  our  just  pride  as  a  nation. 
The  statesmen  of  the  remotest  extremes  of  the  Union,  can  con- 
verse together,  like  the  philosophers  of  Athens,  in  the  same 
portico,  or  the  pohticians  of  Rome,  in  t^he  same  forum.  Dis- 
tance is  overcome,  and  the  citizens  of  Georgia  and  of  Maine 
can  be  brought  to  co-operate  in  the  same  great  object,  with  as 
perfect  a   community  of  views  and  feelings,   as  actuated  the 

*  U.  S.  Senator  from  New  Hampshire. 


GEOEGE  Mcduffie. — s.  s.  prentiss.  143 

tribes  of  Rome,  in  the  assemblies  of  the  people.  It  is  obvious 
that  liberty  has  a  more  extensive  and  durable  foundation  in  the 
United  States,  than  it  ever  has  had  in  any  other  age  or  country. 
By  the  representative  principle — a  principle  unknown  and  im- 
practicable among  the  ancients,  the  whole  mass  of  society  is 
brought  to  operate,  in  constraining  the  action  of  power,  and  in 
the  conservation  of  public  liberty.  Geoege McDuffie* 


113.      NEW  ENGLAND  AND  THE  UNION. 

Glorious  New  England !  thou  art  still  true  to  thy  ancient 
fame,  and  worthy  of  thy  ancestral  honors.  On  thy  pleasant 
valleys  rest,  like  sweet  dews  of  morning,  the  gentle  I'ecollections 
of  our  early  hfe  ;  around  thy  hills  and  mountains  cling,  like  gath- 
ering mists,  the  mighty  memories  of  the  revolution ;  and  far  away 
in  the  horizon  of  thy  past  gleam,  like  thy  own  bright  northern 
lights,  the  awful  virtues  of  our  Pilgrim  sires  !  But  while  we 
devote  this  day  to  the  remembrance  of  our  native  land,  we  for- 
get not  that  in  which  our  happy  lot  is  cast.  We  exult  in  the 
reflection,  that  though  we  count  by  thousands  the  miles  which 
separate  us  from  our  birthplace,  still  our  country  is  the  same. 
We  are  no 'exiles  meeting  upon  the  banks  of  a  foreign  river,  to 
swell  its  welters  with  our  homesick  tears.  Here  floats  the  same 
banner  which  rustled  above  our  boyish  heads,  except  that  its 
mighty  folds  are  wider,  and  its  glittering  stars  increased  in  num- 
ber. 

The  sons  of  New  England  are  found  in  every  state  of  the 
broad  republic  !  In  the  East,  the  South,  and  the  unbounded 
West,  their  blood  mingles  freely  with  every  kindred  current. 
We  have  but  changed  our  chamber  in  the  paternal  mansion ;  in 
all  its  rooms  we  are  at  home,  and  all  who  inhabit  it  are  our 
brothers.  To  us  the  Union  has  but  one  domestic  hearth ;  its 
household  gods  are  all  the  same.  Upon  us,  then,  peculiarly 
devolves  the  duty  of  feeding  the  fires  upon  that  kindly  hearth  ; 
of  guarding  with  pious  care  those  sacred  household  gods. 

We  cannot  do  with  less  than  the  whole  Union  ;  to  us  it  ad- 
mits of  no  division.  In  the  veins  of  our  children  flows  northern 
and  southern  blood :  how  shall  it  be  separated  ? — who  shall  put 
asunder  the  best  affections  of  the  heart,  the  noblest  instincts  of 

*  U.  S.  Ecprescntative  from  Soutli  Carolina. 


144  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

our  nature  ?  We  love  the  land  of  our  adoption ;  so  do  we 
that  of  our  birth.  Let  us  ever  be  true  to  both ;  and  always 
exert  ourselves  in  maintaining  the  unity  of  our  co'^ntry,  the  in- 
tegrity of  the  republic. 

Accursed,  then,  be  the  hand  put  forth  to  loosen  the  golden 
cord  of  union!  thrice  accursed  the  traitorous  lips  which  shall 
propose  its  severance  !  g  g  p^^^ntlss.* 


114.      THE  TRUE  REFORMERS. 

To  the  rightly  constituted  mind,  to  the  truly  developed  man, 
there  always  is,  there  always  must  be  opportunity — opportunity 
to  be  and  to  learn,  nobly  to  do  and  to  endure  ;  and  what  matter 
whether  with  pomp  and  eclat,  with  sound  of  trumpets  and  shout 
of  applauding  thousands,  or  in  silence  and  seclusion,  beneath  the 
calm,  discerning  gaze  of  heaven  ?  No  station  can  be  humble 
on  which  that  gaze  is  approvingly  bent :  no  work  can  be  igno- 
ble which  is  performed  uprightly,  and  not  impelled  by  sordid 
and  selfish  aims. 

Not  from  among  the  children  of  monarchs,  ushered  into 
being  with  boom  of  cannon  and  shouts  of  revelling  millions, 
but  from  amid  the  sons  of  obscurity  and  toil,  cradled  in  peril 
and  ignominy,  from  the  bulrushes  and  the  manger,  come  forth 
the  benefactors  and  saviours  of  mankind.  So  when  all  the  bab- 
ble and  glare  of  our  age  shall  have  passed  into  a  fitting  oblivion, 
when  those  who  have  enjoyed  rare  opportunities  and  swayed 
vast  empires,  and  been  borne  through  life  on  the  shoulders  of 
shouting  multitudes,  shall  have  been  laid  at  last  to  rest  in  golden 
coffins,  to  molder  forgotten,  the  stately  marble  their  only  monu- 
ments, it  will  be  found  that  some  humble  youth,  who  neither 
inherited  nor  found,  but  hewed  out  his  opportunities,  has  uttered 
the  thought  which  shall  render  the  age  memorable,  by  extend- 
ing the  means  of  enlightenment  and  blessing  to  our  race.  The 
great  struggle  for  human  progress  and  elevation  proceeds  noise- 
lessly, often  unnoted,  often  checked  and  apparently  baffled,  amid 
the  clamorous  and  debasing  strifes  impelled  by  greedy  selfish- 
ness and  low  ambition.  In  that  struggle,  maintained  by  the 
wise  and  good  of  all  parties,  all  creeds,  all  chmes,  bear  ye  the 
part  of  men.  Heed  the  lofty  summons,  and  with  souls  serene 
and  constant,  prepare  to  tread  boldly  in  the  path  of  highest  du- 

*  U.  S.  KepreBcntative  from  Mississippi. 


IIOEACE  GEEELEY.  145 

ty.  So  sliall  life  be  to  you  truly  exalted  and  heroic ;  so  shall 
death  be  a  transition  neither  sought  nor  dreaded  ;  so  shall  your 
memory,  though  cherished  at  first  but  by  a  few  humble,  loving 
hearts,  linger  long  and  gratefully  in  human  remembrance,  a 
watchword  to  the  truthful  and  an  incitement  to  generous  en- 
deavor, freshened  by  the  proud  tears  of  admiring  affection,  and 
fragrant  with  the  odors  of  heaven  !  jj^^^^  Gueeley  * 


115.      SELF-SACRIFICING  AMBITION. 

We  need  a  loftier  ideal  to  nerve  us  for  heroic  lives.  To  know 
and  feel  our  nothingness  without  regretting  it ;  to  deem  fame, 
riches,  personal  happiness,  but  shadows  of  which  human  good 
is  the  substance  ;  to  welcome  pain,  privation,  ignominy,  so  that 
the  sphere  of  human  knowledge,  the  empire  of  virtue,  be  thereby 
extended  :  such  is  the  soul's  temper  in  which  the  heroes  of  the 
coming  age  shall  be  cast.  When  the  stately  monuments  of 
mightiest  conquerors  shall  have  become  shapeless  and  forgotten 
ruins,  the  humble  graves  of  earth's  Howards  and  Frys  shall 
still  be  freshened  by  the  tears  of  fondly  admiring  millions,  and 
the  proudest  epitaph  shall  be  the  simple  entreaty, 

"  Write  me  as  one  wlio  loved  his  fellow-m^n." 

Say  not  that  I  thus  condemn  and  would  annihilate  ambition. 
The  love  of  approbation,  of  esteem,  of  true  glory,  is  a  noble  in- 
centive, and  should  be  cherished  to  the  end.  But  the  ambition 
which  points  the  way  to  fame  over  torn  hmbs  and  bleeding 
hearts,  which  joys  in  the  Tartarean  smoke  of  the  battle-field, 
and  the  desolating  tramp  of  the  war-horse, — that  ambition  is 
worthy  only  of  "  archangel  ruined."  To  make  one  conqueror's 
reputation,  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  bounding,  joyous, 
sentient  beings  must  be  transformed  into  writhing  and  hideous 
fragments, — must  perish  untimely  by  deaths  of  agony  and  hor- 
ror, leaving  half  a  million  widows  and  orphans  to  bewail  their 
loss  in  anguish  and  destitution.  This  is  too  mighty,  too  awful 
a  price  to  be  paid  for  the  fame  of  any  hero,  from  Nimrod  to 
Wellington.  True  fame  demands  no  such  sacrifices  of  others  ; 
it  requires  us  to  be  reckless  of  the  outward  well-being  of  but 
one.  It  exacts  no  hecatomb  of  victims  for  each  triumphal  pile  ; 
for  the  more  who  covet  and  seek  it,  the  easier  and  more  abun- 

*  U.  S.  Eepresentative  fi-om  New  York. 
7 


146  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

dant  is  the  success  of  eacli  and  all.  With  souls  of  tlie  celestial 
temper,  each  human  life  might  be  a  triumph,  which  angels 
would  lean  from  the  skies  delighted  to  witness  and  admire. 

Horace  Gkeeley.* 


116.     THE  ADMISSION  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

The  great  questions  which  demand  our  consideration  at  this 
moment,  are  those  which  relate  to  our  new  territorial  acquisi- 
tions ;  and  the  first  of  these  questions  is  that  which  relates  to 
California. 

r  What  is  California  ?  But  yesterday,  sir,  it  was  a  colony  in 
embryo.  But  yesterday — to  use  the  language  which  Mr.  Burke 
once  applied  to  America — it  was  "  a  little  speck,  scarce  visible 
in  the  mass  of  national  interest ;  a  small  seminal  principle,  rather 
than  a  formed  body."  To-day,  it  presents  itself  to  us  an  estab- 
lished commonwealth,  and  is  knocking  at  our  doors  for  admit- 
tance to  the  Union  as  a  free  and  independent  state.)  Shall  it  be 
turned  away  ?  Shall  it  be  remanded  to  its  colonial  condition  ? 
Shall  we  attempt  to  crowd  back  this  full-grown  man  into  the 
cradle  of  infancy  ?  And  that,  too,  in  spite  of  the  express  pro- 
vision of  the  treaty  by  which  it  was  acquired,  "  that  at  a  proper 
time,  it  shall  be  incorporated  into  the  Union?" 

Upon  what  pretence  shall  such  a  step  be  taken  ?  Why  is 
not  this  the  proper  time  ?  Is  it  said  that  there  has  been  some 
violation  of  precedents  in  her  preparatory  proceedings  ?  Where 
will  you  find  a  precedent  in  any  degree  applicable  to  her  condi- 
tion ?  When  has  such  a  case  been  presented  in  our  past  his- 
tory ?  When  may  we  look  for  another  such  in  our  future  pro- 
gress ?  "  Who  hath  heard  such  a  thing  ?  Who  hath  seen  such 
thing  ?  Shall  the  earth  be  made  to  bring  forth  in  one  day  ? 
Or  shall  a  nation  be  born  at  once  ?" 

Is  it  -said  that  she  has  not  population  enough  ?  The  best 
accounts  which  we  can  obtain  estimate  her  population  at  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  souls ;  and  these,  be  it  remembered, 
are  nearly  all  full-grown  persons,  and  a  vast  majority  of  tliem 
men,  and  voters.  And  what,  after  all,  are  any  estimates  of 
population  worth  in  such  a  case  ?  As  the  same  great  British 
orator,  whom  I  have  just  quoted,  said  of  the  American  colonies 
in  1775:  "Such  is  the  strength  with  which  population  shoots 

*  y.  S.  Eepresentative  from  New  York. 


EOEEKT  C.  WINTimOP  147 

in  that  part  of  the  world,  that,  state  the  numbers  as  high  as  we 
will,  whilst  the  dispute  continues,  tlie  exaggeration  ends.  Whilst 
we  are  discussing  any  given  magnitude,  they  are  grown  to  it." 

Is  it  said  that  her  boundaries  are  too  extensive  ?  You  did 
not  find  this  fiult  with  Texas.  Texas,  with  the  boundaries 
which  are  claimed  by  her,  has  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
thousand  five  hundred  and  twenty  square  miles ;  and,  with  any 
boundaries  which  are  likely  to  be  assigned  to  her,  she  will  have 
more  than  two  hundred  thousand  square  miles.  California, 
under  her  own  constitution,  has  but  one  hundred  and  fifty-five 
thousand  five  hundred  and  fifty  square  miles  of  territory,  of 
which  one-half  are  mere  mountains  of  rock  and  ice,  and  another 
quarter  a  desert  waste  ! 

Is  it  said  that  these  settlers  are  a  wild,  reckless,  floating  pop- 
ulation, bent  only  upon  digging  gold,  and  unworthy  to  be  trusted 
in  estabhshing  a  government  ?  Sir,  I  do  not  believe  a  better 
class  of  emigrants  was  ever  found  flocking  in  such  numbers  to 
any  new  settlement  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  immense  dis- 
tance, the  formidable  difficulties,  and  the  onerous  expense  of  the 
pilgrimage  to  California,  necessarily  confined  emigration  to  men 
of  some  pecuniary  substance,  as  well  as  to  men  of  more  than 
ordinary  physical  endurance.  We  have  all  seen  going  out  from 
our  own  respective  neighborhoods,  not  a  few  hardy,  honest,  in- 
dustrious, patriotic  young  men, 

"  Bearing  their  birthrights  proudly  on  their  backs, 
To  make  a  hazard  of  new  fortunes  there  ;" 

and,  in  their  name,  sir,  I  protest  against  the  constitution  which 
they  have  adopted  being  condemned  on  any  score  of  its  pa- 
ternity. 

And  now,  sir,  entertaining  such  views,  I  need  hardly  add  that, 
in  my  judgment,  California  ought  to  be  admitted  to  the  Union 
without  more  delay,  as  a  separate,  independent  measure.  1  am 
opposed  to  any  scheme  for  qualifying,  or  coupling  it  with  other 
arrangements.  It  is  unjust  to  Cahfornia  to  embarrass,  and  per- 
haps peril,  her  admission,  by  mixing  her  up  with  matters  of  a 
controverted  character.  It  is  still  more  unjust  to  a  large  ma- 
jority of  this  house,  who  desire  to  record  their  names  distinctly 
for  her  admission  as  a  state,  to  deny  them  the  proper,  legiti- 
mate, parliamentary  mode  of  doing  so,  by  annexing  to  the  same 
bill  provisions  against  which  not  a  few  of  them  are  solemnly 
pledged.  Let  the  Southern  gentlemen  forbear  to  teach  us 
bloody  instructions,  which  may  return  to  plague  the  inventor. 
The  ingredients  of  the  poisoned  chalice  may  yet  be  commended 
to  their  own  lips.     Let  them  remember,  that  there  may  be  a 


148  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

point  of  honor  at  the  North  as  well  as  at  the  South.  Let  them 
remember  that  the  same  voice  of  patriotism  which  cries  to  the 
North  "  give  up,"  says  to  the  South  also,  "  keep  not  back." 

Robert  C.  Winthrop.* 

# 


117.      NEW  TERRITORIES. 

Sir,  the  territories  which  have  come  under  our  guardianship 
are,  in  my  judgment,  of  more  worth  than  to  be  made  the  mere 
make-weights  in  the  scales  of  sectional  equality.  They  are 
entitled  to  another  sort  of  consideration,  than  to  be  cut  up,  and 
partitioned  off,  like  trodden-down  Poland,  in  order  to  satisfy  the 
longings  and  appease  the  jealousies  of  surrounding  states. 
They  are — they  ought  certainly — to  be  disposed  of  and  regu- 
lated by  us,  with  a  primary  regard  to  the  prosperity  and  welfare 
of  those  who  occupy  them  now,  and  those  who  are  destined  to 
occupy  them  hereafter,  and  not  with  the  selfish  view  of  augment- 
ing the  mere  local  power  or  pride  of  any  of  us. 

Mr.  Chairman,  I  see  in  the  territorial  possessions  of  this 
Union,  the  seats  of  new  states,  the  cradles  of  new  common- 
wealths, the  nurseries,  it  may  be,  of  new  repubhcan  empires. 
I  see  in  them  the  future  abodes  of  our  brethren,  our  children, 
and  our  children's  children,  for  a  thousand  generations.  I  see, 
growing  up  within  our  borders,  institutions  upon  which  the 
character  and  condition  of  a  vast  multitude  of  the  American 
family,  and  of  the  human  race,  in  all  time  to  cbme,  are  to  de- 
pend. I  feel,  that  for  the  original  shaping  and  molding  of  these 
institutions,  you  and  I,  and  each  one  of  us  who  occupy  these 
seats,  are  in  part  responsible.  And  I  cannot  omit  to  ask  my- 
self, what  shall  I  do,  that  I  may  deserve  the  gratitude  and  the 
blessing,  and  not  the  condemnation  and  the  curse,  of  that  pos- 
terity, whose  welfare  is  thus  in  some  degree  committed  to  my 
care  ? 

Here  then,  sir,  I  bring  these  remarks  to  a  close.  I  have  ex- 
plained, to  the  l3est  of  my  ability,  the  views  which  I  entertain 
of  the  great  questions  of  the  day.  Those  views  may  be  mis- 
represented hereafter,  as  they  have  been  heretofore  ;  but  they 
cannot  be  misundei-stood  by  any  one  who  desires,  or  who  is  even 
wiling,  to  vmderstand  them. 

One  lie,  however,  I  am  persuaded,  still  remains  to  us  all— 

*  U.  S.  Kepresentative  from  Massachusetts. 


EGBERT  C.  WINTKROP. — D.  D.  BAENAKD.  149 

a  common  devotion  to  the  'Union  of  these  states,  and  a  common 
determination  to  sacrifice  every  thing  but  principle  to  its  preserva- 
tion. Our  responsibihties  are  indeed  great.  This  vast  repubhc, 
stretching  from  sea  to  sea,  and  rapidly  outgrowing  every  tliyig 
but  our  affections,  looks  anxiously  to  us,  this  day,  to  take  care 
that  it  receives  no  detriment.  Nor  is  it  too  much  to  say,  that 
the  eyes  and  the  hearts  of  the  friends  of  constitutional  freedom 
throughout  the  world  are  at  this  moment  turned  eagerly  here — 
more  eagerly  than  ever  before — to  behold  an  example  of  suc- 
cessful repubhcan  institutions,  and  to  see  them  come  out  safely 
and  triumphantly  from  the  fiery  trial  to  which  they  are  now 
subjected. 

I  have  the  firmest  faith  that  these  eyes  and  these  hearts  will 
not  be  disappointed.  I  have  the  strongest  belief  that  the 
visions  and  phantoms  of  disunion  which  now  appall  us,  will  soon 
be  remembered  only  like  the  clouds  of  some  April  morning,  or 
"  the  dissolving  views"  of  some  evening  spectacle.  I  have  the 
fullest  conviction  that  this  glorious  republic  is  destined  to  out- 
last all,  all  at  either  end  of  the  Union,  who  may  be  plotting 
against  its  peace,  or  predicting  its  downfall. 

"  Fond,  impious  man !  tliink'st  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud, 
Eaised  by  thj^  breath,  can  quench  the  orb  of  day  ? 
To-morrow,  it  repairs  its  golden  flood. 
And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray!" 

Let  us  proceed  in  the  settlement  of  the  unfortunate  contro- 
versies in  which  we  find  ourselves  involved,  in  a  spirit  of  mutual 
conciliation  and  concession :  let  us  invoke  fervently  upon  our 
efforts  the  blessings  of  that  Almighty  Being  who  is  "  the  author 
of  peace  and  the  lover  of  concord."  And  we  shall  still  find 
order  springing  out  of  confusion,  harmony  evoked  from  discord, 
and  peace,  union,  and  hberty,  once  more  reassured  to  our  land  ! 

Robert  C.  Winthrop.* 


118.     IGNORANCE  AND  SUPERSTITION. 

We  are  not  to  make  pilgrimages,  my  friends,  in  search  of 
Ignorance.  It  lives  in  our  lives,  and  dwells  in  our  dwellings. 
Who  can  tell  how  many  there  are,  even  in  our  own  enlightened 
age  and  country,  who  can  still  discover  the  movements  of  em- 

*  U.  S.  Eeprescntative  from  Massachusetts. 


150  SELECTIONS  IN  PK08E. 

battled  and  bloody  hosts  in  the  harmless  coruscations  of  the 
northern  aurora  ?  How  many  are  still  the  dupes  of  the  absurd 
pretensions  and  impositions  of  judicial  astrology  ?  How  many 
miserable  lunatics,  pretending  to  be  rational,  still  see,  in  an 
eclipse  of  the  moon,  nothing  but  the  sickening  effect  of  some 
enchanter's  influence  ?  How  many  who  are  still  firm  believers 
in  unlucky  days  ?  How  many  who  still  draw  disastrous  omens 
from  the  commonest  events  in  nature  ;  who  can  pick  letters  out 
of  the  wick  of  a  bm-ning  candle  ;  brew  a  quarrel  by  spilling  a 
little  salt  at  the  table  ;  sever  love  and  friendship  by  the  present 
of  a  pair  of  scissors ;  and  hear  the  death-warrant  of  a  friend 
in  the  ticking  of  an  insect,  or  the  flapping  of  a  dove's  wing  at 
the  window  ?  How  many  who  still  believe  that  the  earthly 
mterests  of  a  new-born  infant  absolutely  require  that  it  should 
first  be  carried  up  stairs,  before  it  is  brought  down?  How  many 
grown-up  children  are  still  cowards  in  the  dark  ?  How  many 
who  still  people  an  imaginary  world  of  their  own  creation,  with 
hosts  of  spectres,  hobgoblins,  and  brownies  ?  Nor  let  the 
educated  flatter  themselves  that  all  the  current  ignorance  of  the 
period  is  confined  to  the  circle  of  the  uninstructed.  For  who 
can  tell  how  many  of  the  Augustuses  of  our  day  confidently 
expect  ill-luck,  if  a  stocking  be  put  on  with  the  wrong  side  out, 
or  the  left  shoe  be  put  on  to  the  right  foot  ?  how  many  of  our 
Luthers  see  the  hand  of  the  devil  in  every  meteoric  phenome- 
non ?  how  many  of  our  Johnsons  are  believers  in,  or  are  them- 
selves gifted  with,  the  "  second  sight  ?" 

But,  my  friends,  ignorance  does  not  do  the  whole  or  the  worst 
of  her  work,  by  shackling  with  idle  fear  and  superstitious  belief 
the  free  mind  of  man.  She  does  more  than  this.  When  the 
mind  is  occupied  with  error,  truth  cannot  enter ;  and  when  the 
heart  is  filled  with  superstition,  it  becomes  the  habitation  of 
cruelty.  Faith  is  the  foundation  on  which  conduct  builds ;  and 
her  banner,  be  it  pure  or  be  it  bloody,  is  sure  to  float  over  every 
conquest  made  in  her  name.  Under  the  lead  of  ignorance,  per- 
secution takes  the  field,  and  destroys  with  fire  and  with  the 
sword.  The  earth  is  filled  with  violence,  and  the  poAvers  of  uni- 
versal nature  are  moved  in  elemental  war,  to  satisfy  the  wrath 

of  man.  tw  T^  t.  * 

D.  D.  Baknard.* 

*  U.  S.  Eepresentative  from  New  York. 


D.  D.  BAJRNAED. — HOEACE  MANN.  161 


119.      THE  LIGHT  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

We  know  the  enemy  we  have  to  contend  with — which  is 
ignorance  ;  and  we  know  where  to  find  him,  though  he  hath  his 
habitation  in  darkness.  .  We  are  acquainted  with  his  haunts  and 
his  associations ;  and  the  weapon  of  his  certain  destruction  is 
in  our  hands.  That  weapon  is  Light — the  light  of  genuine 
learning  added  to  the  light  of  a  genuine  faith — a  light  which 
heretofore  has  not  been  permitted  to  burn  with  brightness  and 
purity,  chiefly  because  it  was  not  originally  kindled  at  the  right 
fountain ;  a  light  which  has  often  gone  out,  in  the  keeping  of 
unfaithful  vestals ;  which  has  often  been  hid,  when  it  should 
have  been  made  manifest ;  which  has  always  been,  more  or  less, 
fed  from  sources  which  could  not  supply  or  suppcfl-t  it ;  which, 
at  best,  has  been  kept  as  a  lamp  to  the  feet  of  the  few,  when  it 
should  have  been  made  to  illumine  the  pathway  of  the  many ; 
which,  for  the  most  part,  having  only  ghmmered  faintly  from  a  few 
sequestered  and  solitary  places,  has  served  but  to  deepen  the 
shadows  of  the  general  gloom  around  them.  This  is  that  light 
which  is  now  beginning  to  be  fed  from  better  and  purer 
sources  ;  which  has  its  fountain  in  nature  ;  which  is  to  be  sup- 
plied from  her  fulness,  by  the  aid  of  the  educated ;  which 
ought  to  be  made,  and  may  be  made  to  increase,  spreading  wide 
and  mounting  high,  and  passing  rapidly  from  heart  to  heart, 
and  from  dwelling  to  dwelling,  till  all  the  valleys  shall  answer 
to  all  the  mountain-tops  in  one  universal  and  healthful  glow  of 
brightness  and  illumination.  ^^  P_  Barnakd.* 


120.      IGNORANCE  A  CRIME,  IN  A  REPUBLIC. 

In  all  the  dungeons  of  the  Old  World,  where  the  strong 
champions  of  freedom  are  now  pining  in  captivity  beneath  the 
remorseless  power  of  the  tyrant,  the  morning  sun  does  not 
Bend  a  glimmering  ray  into  their  cells,  nor  does  night  draw  a 
thicker  veil  of  darkness  between  them  and  the  world,  but  the 
lone  prisoner  lifts  his  iron-laden  arms  to  heaven  in  prayer,  that 
we,  the  depositaries  of  freedom,  and  of  human  hopes,  may  be 
faithful  to  our  sacred  trust; — while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
pensioned  advocates  of  despotism  stand,  with  listening  ear,  to 

*  U.  S.  Eepresentativc  from  New  York. 


152  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSE. 

catch  the  first  sound  of  lawless  violence  that  is  wafted  from 
our  shores,  to  note  the  first  breach  of  faith  or  act  of  perfidy 
amongst  us,  and  to  convert  them  into  arguments  against  liberty 
and  the  rights  of  man. 

The  experience  of  the  ages  that  are  past,  the  hopes  of  the 
ages  that  are  yet  to  come,  unite  their  voices  in  an  appeal  to 
us; — they  implore  us  to  think  more  of  the  character  of  our 
people  than  of  its  numbers;  to  look  upon  our  vast  natural 
resources,  not  as  tempters  to  ostentation  and  pride,  but  as  a 
means  to  be  converted,  by  the  refining  alchemy  of  education, 
into  mental  and  spiritual  treasures ;  they  supplicate  us  to  seek 
for  whatever  complacency  or  self-satisfaction  we  are  disposed  to 
indulge,  not  in  the  extent  of  our  territory,  or  in  the  products  of 
our  soil,  but  in  the  expansion  and  perpetuation  of  the  means  of 
human  happiness ;  they  beseech  us  to  exchange  the  luxuries  of 
sense  for  the  joys  of  charity,  and  thus  give  to  the  world  the  ex- 
ample of  a  nation  whose  wisdom  increases  with  its  prosperity, 
and  whose  virtues  are  equal  to  its  power.  For  these  ends  they 
enjoin  upon  us  a  more  earnest,  a  more  universal,  a  more  reli- 
gious devotion  to  our  exertions  and  resources,  to  the  culture  of 
the  youthful  mind  and  heart  of  the  nation.  Their  gathered 
voices  assert  the  eternal  truth,  that,  in  a  republic,  ignorance  is 
a  crime  ;  and  that  private  immorality  is  not  less  an  opprobrium 
to  the  state  than  it  is  guilt  in  the  perpetrator. 

HosAcc  Mann.* 


121.      POPULAR  EDUCATION  THE  CONCERN  OF  ETERY  CITIZEN. 

There  are  those  who  claim  an  exemption  from  a  general  con- 
tribution for  the  purpose  of  extending  the  blessings  of  knowl- 
edge to  all,  upon  the  ground  that  they  have  already  provided 
for  the  education  of  their  own  children,  or  are  both  able  and 
willing  to  do  so,  at  their  own  proper  cost  and  charges  ;  and  that 
it  is  for  others  to  do  the  same,  or  to  omit  it  altogether,  as  they 
may  deem  most  expedient.  Let  us  examine,  for  a  moment,  the 
strength  and  validity  of  this  plea.  My  friend,  you  have  a  son, 
upon  whose  education  no  time,  no  pains,  no  expense  has  been 
spared.  He,  too,  has  been  daintily  brought  up  and  vigilantly 
oared  for.  No  child  of  poverty  and  degradation  has  been  suf- 
fered to  pollute  the  fair  surface  of  his  ingenuous  and  aristocratic 

*  U.  S.  Keprescntativc  from  Magsacliusctts. 


S.  8.  RANDALL. JOSEPH  STOEY.  15S 

mind.  His  companionship  has  been  with  the  gentle  and  the 
well-born  ;  his  associations  have  been  exclusively  with  the  vir- 
tuous, the  high-minded,  and  the  pure.  All  that  the  most  emi- 
nent and  successful  instructors  and  the  most  ample  store  of  an- 
cient and  modern  lore  could  give  him,  has  been  freely  and 
liberally  bestowed  ;  and  he  goes  forth  into  the  scenes  of  active 
life  with  a  proud  brow,  a  fearless  heart,  and  a  cultivated  mind. 
Surely  it  were  the  height  of  presumption  to  expect  that  a  father 
could  do  more.  What  is  it  to  him  that  the  licensed  vender  of 
alcohol  lurks  in  his  neighborhood  with  his  well-filled  dens  of  in- 
famy and  darkness  ?  What  is  it  to  him  that  the  gambler,  the 
debauchee,  the  prostitute,  the  accomphshed  libertine,  the  un- 
principled villain  arc  abroad  in  the  land,  and  that  they,  and 
such  as  they,  are  now  the  men  who,  a  few  short  years  since,  as 
luckless  and  poor,  but  as  yet  innocent  and  unhardened  hoys, 
were  passed  haughtily  by  as  unworthy  of  his  notice  or  regard  ? 
A  few  brief  years  have  rolled  on,  and  that  fair-haired  boy,  in 
an  evil  hour,  has  yielded  to  the  allurements  of  passion  !  The 
tempter  has  prevailed  ;  and  his  swollen  and  bloated  cheeks,  his 
trembhng  limbs,  his  pestiferous  breath,  haggard  and  bloodshot 
eyes,  tell  that  for  him  the  drunkard's  dishonored  grave  is  rap- 
idly preparing  !  Alas  !  my  friend,  had  you  indeed  no  interest 
in  the  education  of  your  neighbor's  children  ? 

S.  S.  Randall. 


122.      CLASSICAL  STUDIES. 

There  is  not  a  single  nation  from  the  north  to  the  south  of 
Europe,  from  the  bleak  shores  of  the  Baltic  to  the  bright  plains 
of  immortal  Italy,  whose  literature  is  not  embedded  in  the  very  , 
elements  of  classical  learning.  The  literature  of  England  is,  in 
an  emphatic  sense,  thg  production  of  her  scholars  ;  of  men  who 
have  cultivated  letters  in  her  universities,  and  colleges,  and 
grammar-schools  ;  of  men  who  thought  any  life  too  short,  chiefly 
because  it  left  some  relic  of  antiquity  unmastered,  and  any  other 
fame  humble,  because  it  faded  in  the  presence  of  Roman  and 
Grecian  genius.  He  who  studies  Enghsh  literature  without  the 
lights  of  classical  learning,  loses  half  the  charms  of  its  sentiments 
and  style,  of  its  force  and  feelings,  of  its  delicate  touches,  of  its 
delightful  allusions,  of  its  illustrative  associations.  Who,  that 
reads  the  poetry  of  Gray,  does  not  feel  that  it  is  the  refinement 
of  classical  taste  which  gives  such  inexpressible  vividness  and 

7* 


154:  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

transparency  to  his  diction  ?  Who,  that  reads  the  concentrated 
sense  and  melodious  versification  of  Dry  den  and  Pope,  does  not 
perceive  in  them  the  disciples  of  the  old  school,  whose  genius 
was  inflamed  by  the  heroic  verse,  the  terse  satire,  and  the^play- 
ful  wit  of  antiquity  ?  Who,  that  meditates  over  the  strains  of 
Milton,  does  not  feel  that  he  drank  deep  at 

"  Siloa's  brook,  that  flow'd 
Fast  by  tlie  oracle  of  God'' — 

that  the  fires  of  his  magnificent  mind  were  lighted  by  coals  from 
ancient  altars  ? 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  declare  that  he  who  proposes  to 
abohsh  classical  studies  proposes  to  render,  in  a  great  measure, 
inert  and  unedifying  the  mass  of  Enghsh  literature  for  three 
centuries ;  to  rob  us  of  the  glory  of  the  past,  and  much  of  the 
instruction  of  future  ages  ;  to  blind  us  to  excellences  which  few 
may  hope  to  equal,  and  none  to  surpass ;  to  annihilate  associa- 
tions which  are  interwoven  with  our  best  sentiments,  and  give 
to  distant  times  and  countries  a  presence  and  reality  as  if  they 
were  m  fact  his  own.  j^^^^^  S^^^^_ 


123.   THE  FREEDOM  OF  THE  PRESS. 

One  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  our  age,  and  that 
indeed  which  has  worked  deepest  in  all  the  changes  of  its  for- 
tunes and  pursuits,  is  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge.  This 
is  emphatically  the  age  of  reading.  In  other  times,  this  was 
the  privilege  of  the  few ;  in  ours,  it  is  the  possession  of  the 
many. 

The  principal  cause  of  this  change  is  to  be  found  in  the  free- 
dom of  the  press.  It  has  been  aided,  also,  by  the  system  of 
free  schools  wherever  it  has  been  established ;  by  that  liberal 
commerce  which  connects,  by  golden  chains,  the  interests  of 
mankind ;  and,  above  all,  by  those  necessities  which  have  com- 
pelled even  absolute  monarchs  to  appeal  to  the  patriotism  and 
common  sentiments  of  their  subjects.  Little  more  than  a  cen- 
tury has  elapsed  since  the  press,  in  England,  was  under  the 
control  of  a  licenser;  and  within  our  own  days  only  has  it 
ceased  to  be  a  contempt,  punishable  by  imprisonment,  to  print 
the  debates  of  parliament.  We  all  know  how  it  still  is  on  the 
continent  of  Europe.  It  either  speaks  in  timid  undertones,  or 
echoes  back  the  prescribed  formularies  of  the  government.    The 


JOSEPH  STOKY.  155 

moment  publicity  is  given  to  the  affairs  of  state,  they  excite 
everywhere  an  irresistible  interest.  If  discussion  be  permitted, 
it  will  soon  be  necessary  to  enlist  talents  to  defend,  as  well  as 
talents  to  devise  measures.  The  daily  press  first  instructed  men 
in  their  wants,  and  soon  found  that  the  eagerness  of  curiosity 
outstripped  the  power  of  gratifying  it.  No  man  can  now  doubt 
the  fact  that,  wherever  the  press  is  free,  it  will  emancipate  the 
people ;  wherever  knowledge  circulates  unrestrained,  it  is  no 
longer  safe  to  oppress  ;  wherever  public  opinion  is  enlightened, 
it  nourishes  an  independent,  mascuUne,  and  healthful  spirit.  If 
Faustus  were  now  living,  he  might  exclaim,  with  all  the  enthu- 
siasm of  Archimedes,  and  with  a  far  nearer  approach  to  the 
truth.  Give  me  where  I  may  place  a  free  press,  and  I  will  shake 
the  world.  jog^j,jj  S^oKY. 


124.      THE  FATE  OF  THE  INDIANS. 

There  is,  indeed,  in  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate  Indians  much 
to  awaken  our  sympathy,  and  much  to  disturb  the  sobriety  of 
our  judgment ;  much  which  may  be  urged  to  excuse  their  own 
atrocities ;  much  in  their  characters  which  betrays  us  into  an 
involuntary  admiration.  What  can  be  more  melancholy  than 
their  history  ?  By  a  law  of  their  nature,  they  seem  destined 
to  a  slow,  but  sure,  extinction.  Everywhere,  at  the  approach 
of  the  white  man,  they  fade  av/ay.  We  hear  the  rustling  of 
their  footsteps,  like  that  of  the  withered  leaves  of  autumn,  and 
they  are  gone  forever.  They  pass  mournfully  by  us,  and  they 
return  no  more. 

Two  centuries  ago,  the  smoke  of  their  wigwams  and  the  fires 
of  their  councils  rose  in  every  valley,  from  Hudson's  Bay  to  the 
farthest  Florida — from  the  ocean  to  the  Mississippi  and  the 
lakes.  The  shouts  of  victory  and  the  war-dance  rang  through 
the  mojintains  and  the  glades.  The  thick  arrows  and  the 
deadly  tomahawk  whistled  through  the  forests,  and  the  hunter's 
trace  and  the  dark  encampment  startled  the  wild  beasts  in  their 
lairs. 

But  where  are  they  ?  Where  are  the  villages,  and  warriors, 
and  youth — the  sachems  and  the  tribes — the  hunters  and  their 
families  ?  They  have  perished.  They  are  consumed.  The 
wasting  pestilence  has  not  alone  done  the  mighty  work.  No  ; 
nor  famine,  nor  war.     There  has  been  a  mightier  power,  a  moraj 


156     .  SELECTIONS  EST  PKOSE. 

canker,  which  hath  eaten  into  their  heart-cores ;  a  plague,  whict 
the  touch  of  the  white  man  communicated;  a  poison,  which 
betrayed  them  into  a  hngering  ruin.  The  winds  of  the  Atlantic 
fan  not  a  single  region  which  they  may  now  call  their  own. 
Already  tlie  last  feeble  remnants  of  the  race  are  preparing  for 
their  journey  beyond  the  Mississippi.  I  see  them  leave  their 
miserable  homes,  the  aged,  the  helpless,  the  women,  and  the 
warriors,  "  few  and  faint,  yet  fearless  still." 

The  ashes  are  cold  on  their  native  hearths.  The  smoke  no 
longer  curls  round  their  lowly  cabins.  They  move  on  with  a 
slow,  unsteady  step.  The  white  man  is  upon  their  heels,  for 
terror  or  dispatch  ;  but  they,  heed  him  not.  They  turn  to  take 
a  last  look  of  their  deserted  villages.  They  cast  a  last  glance 
upon  the  graves  of  their  fathers.  They  shed  no  tears  ;  they 
utter  no  cries  ;  they  heave  no  groans.  There  is  something  in 
their  hearts  which  passes  speech.  There  is  something  in  their 
looks,  not  of  vengeance  or  submission,  but  of  hard  necessity, 
which  stifles  both ;  which  chokes  all  utterance ;  which  has  no 
aim  or  method.  It  is  courage  absorbed  in  despair.  They  linger 
but  for  a  moment.  Their  look  is  onward.  They  have  passed 
the  fatal  stream.  It  shall  never  be  repassed  by  them— no, 
never !  Yet  there  lies  not  between  us  and  them  an  impassable 
gulf.  They  know  and  feel,  that  there  is  for  them  still  one 
remove  further,  not  distant,  nor  unseen.  It  is  to  the  general 
burial-groun(^.  of  the  race.  j^^^^^  g^^^^_ 


125.   THE  EXAMPLE  OF  OUR  FOREFATHEKS. 

The  instructive  lesson  of  history,  teaching  by  example,  can 
nowhere  be  studied  with  more  profit,  or  with  a  better  promise, 
than  in  the  revolutionary  period  of  4'^erica ;  and  especially  by 
us,  who  sit  under  the  tree  our  fathers  have  planted,  enjoy  its 
shade,  and  are  nourished  by  its  fruits.  But  little  is  our  merit 
or  gain,  that  we  applaud  their  deeds,  unless  we  emulate  their 
virtues.  Love  of  country  was  in  them  an  absorbing  principle, 
an  undivided  feeling ;  not  of  a  fragment,  a  section,  but  of  the 
whole  country.  Union  was  the  arch  on  which  they  raised  the 
strong  tower  of  a  nation's  independence.  Let  the  arm  be  palsied 
tliat  would  loosen  one  stone  in  the  basis  of  this  fair  structure, 
or  mar  its  beauty ;  the  tongue  mute^  that  would  dishonor  thei' 


JAKED  SPAEKS.C— WILLIAM  WIRT.  157 

names,    by  calculating  the  value  of  that  which  they  deemed 
without  price. 

They  have  left  us  an  example  already  inscribed  in  the  world's 
memory ;  an  example  portentous  to  the  aims  of  tyranny  in  every 
land  ;  an  example  that  will  console  in  all  ages  the  drooping 
aspirations  of  oppressed  humanity.  They  have  left  us  a  written 
charter  as  a  legacy,  and  as  a  guide  to  our  course.  But  every 
day  convinces  us  that  a  written  charter  may  become  powerless. 
Ignorance  may  misinterpret  it ;  ambition  may  assail  and  faction 
destroy  its  vital  parts  ;  and  aspiring  knavery  may  at  last  sing  its 
requiem  on  the  tomb  of  departed  liberty.  It  is  the  spirit  which 
lives :  in  this  are  our  safety  and  our  hope — the  spirit  of  our 
fathers  ;  and  while  this  dwells  deeply  in  our  remembrance,  and 
its  flame  is  cherished,  ever  burning,  ever  pure,  on  the  altar  of 
our  hearts  ;  while  it  incites  us  to  think  as  they  have  thought, 
and  do  as  they  have  done,  the  honor  and  the  praise  Avill  be  ours, 
to  have  preserved  unimpaired  the  rich  inheritance  which  they 
so  nobly  achieved.  j^^^  gp,^^3_ 


126.   THE  STUDY  OF  ORATORY  IN  GREECE  AND  ROME.  . 

> 

In  the  ancient  republics  of  Greece  and  Rome,  oratory  was  a 
necessary  branch  of  a  finished  education.  A  much  smaller  pro- 
portion of  the  citizens  were  educated  than  among  us ;  but  of 
these  a  much  larger  number  became  orators.  No  man  could 
hope  for  distinction  or  influence,  and  yet  slight  this  art.  The 
commanders  of  their  armies  were  orators  as  well  as  soldiers, 
and  ruled  as  well  by  their  rhetorical  as  by  their  military  skill 
There  was  no  trusting  with  them,  as  with  us,  to  a  natural  facil- 
ity, or  the  acquisition  of  an  accidental  fluency  by  actual  practice. 

But  they  served  an  apprenticeship  to  the  art.  They  passed 
through  a  regular  course  of  instruction  in  schools.  They  sub- 
mitted to  long  and  laborious  discipline.  They  exercised  them- 
selves frequently,  both  before  equals  and  in  the  presence  of 
teachers,  who  criticised,  reproved,  rebuked,  excited  emulation, 
and  left  nothing  undone  which  art  and  perseverance  couli 
accomplish.  The  greatest  orators  of  antiquity,  so  far  from  being 
favored  by  natural  tendencies — except,  indeed,  in  their  high  in- 
tellectual endowments — had  to  struggle  against  natural  obstacles  ; 
and,  instead  of  growing  up  spontaneously  to  their  unrivalled 


158  SELECTIONS *N  PEOSK 

eminence,  they  forced   themselves  forward  by  the  most  dis« 
couraging,  artificial  process. 

Demosthenes  combated  an  impediment  in  speech,  an  ungain- 
liness  of  gesture,  which  at  first  drove  him  from  the  forum  in 
disgrace.  Cicero  failed  at  first,  through  weakness  of  lungs  and 
an  excessive  vehemence  of  manner,  which  wearied  the  hearers 
and  defeated  his  own  purpose.  These  defects  were  conquered 
by  study  and  discipline.  He  exiled  himself  from  home,  and, 
during  his  absence,  in  various  lands,  passed  not  a  day  without  a 
rhetorical  exercise,  seeking  the  masters  who  were  most  severe 
in  criticism,  as  the  surest  means  of  leading  him  to  the  perfection 
at  which  he  aimed.  ^^^^^^^  ^^^ 


127.      THE  DECLARATION  OF  AMERICAN  INDEPENDENCE. 

We  have  now,  fellow-citizens,  reached  an  important  point  in 
this  interesting  controversy  between  Great  Britain  and  her  colo- 
nies. The  future  tendency  of  the  present  state  of  things  could 
no  longer  be  mistaken.  "  Thick  coming  events  already  cast 
their  shadows  before,"  and  pointed  to  a  result  then  as  inevitable 
as  it  was  near,  and  as  much  desired  by  some  as  it  was  destined 
to  be  glorious  to  all. 

From  this  point,  let  us,  for  a  moment,  look  back  upon  this 
singular  and  momentous  contest.  In  this  review,  we  shall  find 
it  singularly  characterized  by  a  spirit  of  gradual  and  persevering 
encroachment  on  the  one  part,  and  of  forbearance,  but  steady 
resistance,  on  the  other.  Small  at  first  and  slight  the  departure 
from  the  acknowledged  principles  of  right,  but  increasing  in 
wrong  at  each  successive  step  of  its  progress,  making  the  legit- 
imate resistance  to  its  first  wrong  a  new  pretext  for  the  aggra- 
vation and  increased  severity  of  its  succeeding  one,  until  its 
assumption  of  power  had  passed  all  limit,  and  its  exercise  all 
restraint,  the  course  of  Great  Britain,  in  this  contest,  exhibited 
a  folly  as  remarkable  as  her  tyranny  was  odious.  No  suppHca- 
tion  could  soften  her  anger,  or  propitiate  her  favor ;  no  argu- 
ment, however  clear  and  strong,  could  reach  her  reason,  or 
arouse  her  sense  of  justice ;  and  no  appeal  to  humanity  could 
either  touch  her  sensibility  or  excite  her  kindly  regard.  But 
moved  by  the  worst  spirit  of  cupidity  and  ambition,  stung  by 
the  mortifications  of  wounded  pride  and  conscious  wrong,  and 
deaf  alike  to  the  voice  of  reason,  the  dictates  of  justice,  and 


LUTHEK  BKADISH.  150 

the  suggestions  of  humanity,  she  rushed  bhndly  and  madly  upon 
her  ruin,  exhibiting  a  striking  example  of  the  truth  of  that 
familiar  but  beautiful  Latin  proverb, 

"  Quern  Deus  vult  perdere  prius  dementat." 

On  the  other  hand,  we  find  the  colonists  forbearing  in  their 
complaints,  moderate  in  their  demands,  but  firm  and  unwavering 
in  their  resistance  to  wrong.  In  their  love  of  liberty  and  their 
attachment  to  free  government,  they  never  faltered.  Neither 
the  corruptions  of  avarice,  the  whisperings  of  ambition,  nor 
the  gorgeous  pageantry  of  monarchy  or  power,  could  ever  for 
a  moment  seduce  them  from  the  one,  or  draw  them  from  the 
other.  As  the  perception  of  their  rights  was  always  clear,  so 
was  their  assertion  of  them  ever  fearless.  A  people  more  timid 
than  the  colonists,  viewing  the  great  disparity  of  force  between 
the  parties  to  the  contest,  might  often  have  been  led  to  adopt 
the  expedient,  while  the  colonists  thought  only  of  the  right. 
They  had  imbibed  too  much  of  the  spirit  of  their  Pilgrim 
fathers,  either  to  submit  quietly  to  any  wrong,  or  make  any 
compromise  with  duty.  Once  satisfied  of  the  right,  they 
embraced  it  without  hesitation,  and  left  the  event  to  Him  who 
controls  and  governs  all  events.  Although  comparatively  few 
in  numbers,  and  feeble  in  resources,  their  strength  was  in  their 
consciousness  of  right,  and  in  Him  who  had  ordained  it. 

Having,  therefore,  endured  unredressed  wrong  to  the  last 
point  of  human  forbearance ;  and  their  last  attempt  at  recon- 
ciliation having  been  met  only  with  contumely  and  insult,  a 
single  alternative  only  remained  to  them.  That  alternative  was 
adopted.  The  representatives  of  the  people,  then  in  congress 
assembled,  animated  by  a  patriotism  as  pure  as  it  was  ardent, 
and  sustained  by  a  spirit  as  bold  and  fearless  as  it  was  just,  and 
"  appealing  to  the  Supreme  Judge  of  the  world,  for  the  recti- 
tude of  their  intentions,"  did,  on  the  4th  of  July,  1176,  put 
forth  to  the  world  the  solemn  declaration,  "  that  these  united 
colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  states." 

Luther  Bradish. 


128.   THE  NOBLE  DEEDS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

The  united  colonies,  which  were  lately  dependencies  ox  Great 
Britain,  are  now  free  and  independent  states.  They  have 
'*  assumed  among  the  powers  of  the  earth  the  separate  and 


160  SELECTIONS  m  PEOSE. 

equal  station  to  which  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  nature's  God 
entitled  them,"  They  have  declared  their  independence.  Their 
right  to  that  independence  is  henceforth  to  be  determined  by 
their  power  to  maintain  it.  It  is  no  longer  a  question  of  a 
redress  of  grievances,  but  one  of  power.  And  this  young 
republic  of  the  New  World  is  about  to  enter  the  lists,  and 
measure  arms  with  one  of  the  proudest  and  most  powerful 
monarchies  of  the  Old.  Upon  the  issue  of  this  contest  hangs 
not  only  her  own  destiny,  but  the  hopes  of  the  friends  of  free 
government  throughout  the  world. 

With  the  events  and  the  results  of  the  war  that  ensued,  you 
are  all  familiar.  They  have  already  passed  on  to  the  pages  of 
history,  and  their  record  is  garnered  up  amongst  our  dearest 
and  proudest  recollections.  Time  would  fail  me,  to  enter  into  a 
minute  detail  of  those  events.  Suffice  it,  therefore,  to  say, 
that  the  whole  period  of  this  memorable  contest,  from  the  firing 
of  the  first  gun  at  Lexington  to  the  last  at  Yorktown — from  the 
first  insolence  of  Gage  to  the  last  humiliation  of  Cornwallis, — 
was,  on  the  part  of  the  Americans,  fruitful  in  great  men  and 
noble  deeds.  'Tis  said  that  "  adversity  is  the  school  in  which 
great  virtues  are  acquired,  and  great  characters  formed."  And 
it  is  certain  that  the  great  and  trying  exigences  of  the  revolu- 
tion never  failed  to  produce  both  men  and  deeds  equal  to  the 
occasion.  If,  at  any  time,  the  country  seemed  to  want  the 
ordinary  and  necessary  means  of  success,  that  want  was  abun- 
dantly supplied  by  her  many  virtues ;  for  the  military  and  civic 
virtues,  of  the  highest  order,  which  characterized  this  whole 
period,  would  have  illustrated  any  age  of  any  country.  A  pure 
and  ardent  patriotism;  a  patient  endurance  of  hardships;  a 
sustaining  courage,  that  no  danger  or  difficulties  could  appall ; 
and  a  devotion  to  the  pubhc  good  that  scarce  knew  bounds, 
were  the  virtues  that  eminently  distinguished  this  period,  and 
which  led  the  country  in  triumph  through  its  arduous  struggle, 
to  the  final  establishment  and  recognition  of  its  independence. 

Luther  Bradish. 


129.      THE  DISINTERESTEDNESS  OF  WASHINGTON. 

To  the  pen  of  the  historian  must  be  resigned  the  more 
arduous  and  elaborate  tribute  of  justice  to  those  efforts  of  he- 
roic and  pohtical  virtue,  which  conducted  the  American  people 
to  peace  and  liberty.      The  vanquished  foe  retired  from  qui 


R0BE3JT  TKEAT  PAINE.  161 

shores,  and  left  to  the  controlhng  genius  who  repelled  them 
the  gratitude  of  his  own  country,  and  the  admiration  of  the 
world.  The  time  had  now  arrived  which  was  to  apply  the 
touchstone  to  his  integrity — which  was  to  assay  the  affinity  <  f 
his  principles  to  the  standard  of  immutable  right.  On  the  one 
hand,  a  realm,  to  which  he  was  endeared  by  his  services,  almost 
invited  him  to  empire  ;  on  the  other,  the  liberty  to  whose  pro- 
tection his  life  had  been  devoted,  was  the  ornament  and  boon 
of  human  nature.  Washington  could  not  depart  from  his  own 
great  self.  His  country  was  free — he  was  no  longer  a  general. 
Sublime  spectacle !  more  elevating  to  the  pride  of  virtue  than 
the  sovereignty  of  the  globe  united  to  the  sceptre  of  ages! 
Enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen,  the  gorgeous 
pageantry  of  prerogative  was  unworthy  the  majesty  of  his 
dominion.  That  effulgence  of  military  character  which  in 
ancient  states  has  blasted  the  rights  of  the  people  whose 
renown  it  had  brightened,  was  not  here  permitted,  by  the  hero 
from  whom  it  emanated,  to  shine  with  so  destructive  a  lustre. 
Its  beams,  though  intensely  resplendent,  did  not  wither  the 
young  blossoms  of  our  independence  ;  and  liberty,  like  the 
burning  bush,  flourished  unconsumed  by  the  glory  which  sur- 
rounded it. 

To  the  illustrious  founder  of  our  republic  was  it  reserved  to 
exhibit  the  example  of  a  magnanimity  tfhat  commanded  victory 
— of  a  moderation  that  retired  from  triumph.  Unlike  the 
erratic  meteors  of  ambition,  whose  flaming  path  sheds  a  disas- 
trous light  on  the  pages  of  history,  his  bright  orb,  eclipsing  the 
luminaries  among  which  it  rolled,  never  portended  "  fearful 
change"  to  rehgion,  nor  from  its  •*  golden  tresses"  shook  pes- 
tilence on  empire.  What  to  other  heroes  has  been  glory,  would 
to  him  have  been  disgrace.  To  his  intrepidity  it  would  have 
added  no  honorary  trophy,  to  have  waded,  like  the  conqueror 
of  Peru,  through  the  blood  of  credulous  millions,  to  plant  the 
standard  of  triumph  at  the  burning  mouth  of  a  volcano.  To 
his  fame  it  would  have  erected  no  auxiliary  monument,  to  have 
invaded,  like  the  ravager  of  Egypt,  an  innocent  though  barbar- 
ous nation,  to  inscribe  his  name  on  the  pillar  of  Pompey. 

Robert  Treat  PAunt. 


162  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 


130.      CLASSICAL  AND  CHRISTIAN  LITERATURE. 

The  classics  possess  a  peculiar  charm,  from  the  circumstance 
that  they  have  been  the  models,  I  might  almost  say  the  masters, 
of  composition  and  thought  in  all  ages.  In  the  contemplation 
of  these  august  teachers  of  mankind,  we  are  filled  with  conflict- 
ing emotions.  They  are  the  early  voice  of  the  world,  better 
remembered  and  more  cherished  still,  than  all  the  intermediate 
words  that  have  been' uttered, — as  the  lessons  of  childhood  still 
haunt  us  when  the  impressions  of  later  years  have  been  effaced 
from  the  mind.  But  they  show  with  most  unwelcome  frequency 
the  tokens  of  the  world's  childhood,  before  passion  had  yielded 
to  the  sway  of  reason  and  the  affections.  They  want  the  highest 
charm  of  purity,  of  righteousness,  of  elevated  sentiments,  of 
love  to  God  and  man.  It  is  not  in  the  frigid  philosophy  of  the 
porch  and  the  academy  that  we  are  to  seek  these ;  not  in  the 
marvellous  teachings  of  Socrates,  as  they  comfe  mended  by  the 
mellifluous  words  of  Plato  ;  not  in  the  resounding  line  of  Homer, 
on  whose  inspiring  tale  of  blood  Alexander  pillowed  his  head ; 
not  in  the  animated  strain  of  Pindar,  where  virtue  is  pictured  in 
the  successful  strife  of  an  athlete  at  the  Isthmian  games ;  not 
in  the  torrent  of  Demosthenes,  dark  with  self-love  and  the  spirit 
of  vengeance  ;  not  in  the  fitful  philosophy  and  intemperate  elo- 
quence of  Tully ;  not  in  the  genial  libertinism  of  Horace,  or  the 
stately  atheism  of  Lucretius.  No;  these  must  not  be  our 
masters  ;  in  none  of  these  are  we  to  seek  the  way  of  life.  For 
eighteen  hundred  years  the  spirit  of  these  writers  has  been 
engaged  in  weaponless  contest  with  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
and  those  two  sublime  commandments  on  which  hang  all  the 
law  and  the  prophets.  The  strife  is  still  pending.  Heathenism, 
which  has  possessed  itself  of  such  siren  forms,  is  not  yet  exor- 
cised. It  still  tempts  the  young,  controls  the  affairs  of  active 
life,  and  haunts  the  meditations  of  age. 

Our  own  productions,  though  they  may  yield  to  those  of  the 
ancients  in  the  arrangement  of  ideas,  in  method,  in  beauty  ot 
form,  and  in  freshness  of  illustration,  are  immeasurably  superior 
in  the  truth,  delicacy,  and  elevation  of  their  sentiments — above 
all,  in  the  benign  recognition  of  that  great  Christian  revelation, 
the  brotherhood  of  man.  How  vaiki  are  eloquence  and  poetry, 
compared  with  this  heaven-descended  truth  !  Put  in  one  scale 
that  simple  utterance,  and  in  the  other  the  lore  of  antiquity, 
with  its  accumulating  glosses  and  commentaries,  and  the  last 
will  be  light  and  trivial  in  the  balance.     Greek  poetrv  has  be(?n 


CHAKLES  SUMNEE.— GEIMKE,  163 

likened  to  the  song  of  tlie  nightingale  as  she  sits  in  the  rich,  sym. 
metrical  crown  of  the  palm-tree,  trilling  her  thick- warbled  notes  ; 
but  even  this  is  less  sweet  and  tender  than  the  music  of  the 
human  heart.  Chakles  Sumnek. 


131.     AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

We  cannot  honor  our  country  with  too  deep  a  reverence ;  we 
cannot  love  her  with  an  affection  too  pure  and  fervent ;  we  can- 
not serve  her  with  an  energy  of  purpose  or  a  faithfulness  of  zeal, 
too  steadfast  and  ardent.  And  what  is  our  country  ?  It  is  not 
the  East,  with  her  hills  and  her  valleys,  with  her  countless  sails, 
and  the  rocky  ramparts  of  her  shores.  It  is  not  the  North,  with 
her  thousand  villages,  and  her  harvest-honie,  with  her  frontiers 
of  the  lake  and  the  ocean.  It  is  not  the  West,  with  her  forest- 
sea  and  her  inland  isles,  with  her  luxuriant  expanses,  clothed  in 
the  verdant  corn,  with  her  beautiful  Ohio,  and  her  majestic  Mis- 
souri. Nor  is  it  yet  the  South,  opulent  in  the  mimic  snow  of  the 
cotton,  in  the  rich  plantations  of  the  rustling  cane,  and  in  the 
golden  robes  of  the  rice-field.  What  are  these  but  the  sister 
families  of  one  greater,  better,  holier  family — our  country  ? 

If,  indeed,  we  desire  to  behold  a  literature  like  that,  which 
has  sculptured,  Avith  such  energy  of  expression,  wliich  has 
painted  so  faithfully  and  vividly,  the  crimes,  the  vices,  the  follies 
of  ancient  and  modern  Europe :  if  we  desire  that  our  land  should 
furnish  for  the  orator  and  the  novehst,  for  the  painter  and  the 
poet,  age  after  age,  the  wild  and  romantic  scenery  of  war  ;  the 
glittering  march  of  armies,  and  the  revelry  of  the  camp  ;  the 
shrieks  and  blasphemies,  and  all  the  horrors  of  the  battle-field  ; 
the  desolation  of  the  harvest,  and  the  burning  cottage  ;  the 
storm,  the  sack,  and  the  ruin  of  cities  :  if  we  desire  to  unchain 
the  furious  passions  of  jealousy  and  selfishness,  of  hatred,  re- 
venge, and  ambition,  those  lions  that  now  sleep  harmless  in  their 
den :  if  we  desire  that  the  lake,  the  river,  the  ocean,  should 
blush  with  the  blood  of  brothers  ;  that  the  winds  should  waft 
from  the  land  to  the  sea,  from  the  sea  to  the  land,  the  roar  and 
the  smoke  of  battle  ;  that  the  very  mountain-tops  should  become 
altars  for  the  sacrifice  of  brothers  ; — if  we  desire  that  these,  and 
such  as  these — the  elements,  to  an  incredible  extent,  of  the 
literature  of  the  old  world — should  be  the  elements  of  our 
literature,  then,  but  then  only,  let  us  hurl  from  its  pedestal  the 


16-J:  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

majestic  statue  of  our  Union,  and  scatter  its  fragments  over  al 
our  land.  But,  if  we  covet  for  our  country  the  noblest,  purest, 
loveliest  literature  the  world  has  ever  seen,  such  a  literature  as 
shall  honor  God,  and  bless  mankind  ;  a  literature,  whose  smiles 
might  play  upon  an  angel's  face,  whose  "  tears  would  not  stain 
an  angel's  cheek  ;"  then  let  us  cling  to  the  union  of  these  states, 
with  a  patriot's  love,  with  a  scholar's  enthusiasm,  with  a  Chris^ 
tian's  hope.  In  her  heavenly  character,  as  a  holocaust  self- 
sacrificed  to  God ;  at  the  height  of  her  glory,  as  the  ornament 
of  a  free,  educated,  peaceful.  Christian  people,  American  litera- 
ture will  find  that  the  intellectual  spirit  is  her  very  tree  of  life, 
and  that  union  her  garden  of  paradise'.  q^ 


132.      THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD. 

When  the  first  day  of  judgment  happened,  that  of  the  uni- 
versal deluge  of  waters  upon  the  old  world,  the  calamity  swelled 
like  the  flood,  and  every  man  saw  his  friend  perish,  and  the 
neighbors  of  his  dwelling,  and  the  relatives  of  his  house,  and 
the  sharers  of  his  joys,  and  yesterday's  bride,  and  the  new-born 
heir,  the  priest  of  the  family,  and  the  honor  of  the  kindred,  all 
dying  or  dead,  drenched  in  water  and  the  divine  vengeance ; 
and  thfen  they  had  no  place  to  flee  unto,  no  man  cared  for 
their  souls ;  they  had  none  to  go  unto  for  counsel,  no  sanctuary 
high  enough  to  keep  them  from  the  vengeance  that  rained  down 
from  heaven  ;  and  so  it  shall  be  at  the  day  of  judgment,  when 
that  world  and  this,  and  all  that  shall  be  born  hereafter,  shall 
pass  through  the  same  Red  Sea,  and  be  all  baptized  with  the 
same  fire,  and  be  involved  in  the  same  cloud,  in  which  shall  be 
thunderings  and  terrors  infinite.  Every  man's  fear  sjiall  be  in- 
creased by  his  neighbor's  shrieks,  and  the  amazement  that  all 
the  world  shall  be  in,  shall  unite  as  the  sparks  of  a  raging 
furnace  into  a  globe  of  fire,  and  roll  upon  its  own  principle,  and 
increase  by  direct  appearances  and  intolerable  reflections.  And 
that  shriek  must  needs  be  terrible,  when  millions  of  men  and 
women,  at  the  same  instant,  shall  fearfully  cry  out,  and  the 
noise  shall  mingle  with  the  trumpet  of  the  archangel,  with  the 
thunders  of  the  dying  and  groaning  heavens,  and  the  crack  of 
the  dissolving  world,  when  the  whole  fabric  of  nature  shall 
shake  into  dissolution  and  eternal  ashes  ! 

Jeremy  Taylor, 


W.  GASTON.  165 


133.      PARTY  SPIRIT. 


Parties  and  party  men  may  deserve  reprobation  for  their 
selfishness,  their  violence,  their  errors,  or  their  wickedness. 
They  may  do  our  country  much  harm.  They  may  retard  its 
growth,  destroy  its  harmony,  impair  its  character,  render  its 
institutions  unstable,  pervert  the  public  mind,  and  deprave  the 
pubhc  morals.  These  are,  indeed,  evils,  and  sore  evils  ;  but  the 
principle  of  life  remains,  and  will  yet  struggle,  with  assured 
success,  over  these  temporary  maladies. 

Still  we  are  great,  glorious,  united,  and  free  ;  stiil  we  have  a 
name  that  is  revered  abroad,  and  loved  at  home — a  name  which 
is  a  tower  of  strength  to  us  against  foreign  wrong,  and  a  bond 
of  internal  union  and  harmony — a  name  which  no  enemy  pro- 
nounces but  with  respect,  and  which  no  citizen  hears  but  with 
a  throb  of  exultation.  Still  we  have  that  blessed  constitution, 
which,  with  all  its  pretended  defects,  and  all  its  alleged  viola- 
tions, has  conferred  more  benefit  on  man  than  ever  yet  flowed 
from  any  other  human  institution — which  has  established  jus- 
tice, insured  domestic  tranquillity,  provided  for  the  common 
defence,  promoted  the  general  welfare,  and  which,  under  God, 
if  we  be  true  to  ourselves,  will  insure  the  blessings  of  liberty  to 
us  and  our  posterity. 

Surely,  such  a  country,  and  such  a  constitution,  have  claims 
upon  you,  my  friends,  which  cannot  be  disregarded.  I  entreat 
and  adjure  you,  then,  by  all  that  is  near  and  dear  to  you  on 
earth,  by  all  the  obligations  of  patriotism,  by  the  memory  of 
your  fathers  who  fell  in  the  great  and  glorious  struggle,  for  the 
sake  of  your  sons,  whom  you  would  not  have  to  blush  for  your 
degeneracy ;  by  all  your  proud  recollections  of  the  past,  and 
all  the  fond  anticipations  of  the  future  renown  of  our  nation — 
preserve  that  country,  uphold  that  constitution.  Resolve  that 
they  shall  not  be  lost,  while  in  your  keeping ;  and  may  God 
Almighty  strengthen  you  to  perform  that  vow  ! 

W.  Gastox. 


166  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 


134.      THE  WARFARE  OF  TRUTH. 


The  awful  and  murderous  operations  of  military  power  can 
only  be  justified  when  directed  against  a  foreign  invader,  or 
domestic  conspirators  attempting  to  obtain  possession  of  the 
government  by  force  of  arms : — even  in  such  cases  they  must 
be  allowed  to  be  in  themselves  great  evils,  and  are  only  tolera- 
ted because  necessary  to  put  down  still  greater  evils.  They 
cannot  be  rightfully  employed  as  the  means  of  enlarging  the 
liberties,  or  reforming  the  abuses,  of  any  nation  or  commu- 
nity. 

The  hon'ors  and  cruelties  of  civil  and  intestine  war,  the  blood- 
shed and  the  barbarism  of  the  battle-field,  the  furies  and  the 
crimes  attendant  upon  massacre,  conflagration,  and  pillage,  can 
never  be  made  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  blessings  of  hberty, 
peace,  and  equal  rights,  to  enter  and  take  up  their  abode  in  any 
land.  They  serve  only  to  bind  upon  it  still  more  firmly  the 
burden  and  the  woes  of  slavery  and  sin.  "  All  they  that  take 
the  sword,"  that  is,  select  and  adopt  it  as  the  means  of  improv- 
ing their  social  or  political  condition,  "shall  perish  with  the 
sword."  But  truth  is  mighty,  reason  is  mighty,  conscience  is 
mighty,  the  spirit  of  human  and  of  Christian  benevolence  is 
mightier  than  them  all,  and  the  most  despised  minority,  the 
most  trampled  victims  of  oppression  and  slavery,  if  they  make 
these  the  weapons  of  their  warfare,  and  wield  them  in  faith, 
patience,  and  perseverance,  will  be  sure  to  conquer,  for  God 
will  be  their  ally.  And  the  strongest  and  fiercest  giant,  who 
comes  to  the  field  with  aspear,  and  with  a  sword,  and  with  a 
shield,  will  be  sure  to  fall  before  the  merest  stripling  who  meets 
him  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  q  ^  Upham 


135.      OUR  OBLIGATIONS  TO  the  PILGRIMS. 

To  whom  do  we  owe  it,  under  an  all-wise  Providence,  that 
this  nation,  so  miraculously  born,  is  now  contributing  with  such 
effect  to  the  welfare  of  the  human  family,  by  aiding  the  march 
of  mental  and  moral  improvement,  and  giving  an  example  to 
the  nations  of  what  it  is  to  be  pious,  intelligent,  and  free  ?  To 
whom  do  we  owe  it,  that  with  us  the  great  ends  of  the  social 
compact  are  accomplished  to  a  degree  of  perfection  never  before 


WHELPLEY. — J.  G.  CARTER.  167 

realized ;  that  the  union  of  public  power  and  private  liberty  is 
here  exhibited  in  a  harmony  so  singular  and  perfect  as  to  allow 
the  might  of  political  combination  to  rest  upon  the  basis  of  indi- 
vidual virtue,  and  to  call  into  exercise,  by  the  very  freedom 
which  such  a  union  gives,  all  the  powers  that  contribute  to  na- 
tional prosperity  ? 

To  whom  do  we  owe  it,  that  the  pure  and  powerful  light  of 
the  gospel  is  now  shed  abroad  over  these  countries,  and  is  rap- 
idly gaining  upon  the  darkness  of  the  western  world ;  that  the 
importance  of  religion  to  the  temporal  welfare  of  men,  and  to  the 
permanence  of  wise  institutions,  is  here  beginning  to  be  felt  in  its 
just  measure  ?  To  whom  do  we  owe  it,  that  in  this  favored  land  the 
gospel  of  the  grace  (?f  God  has  best  displayed  its  power  to  bless 
humanity,  by  uniting  the  anticipations  of  a  better  world  with  the 
highest  interests  and  pursuits  of  this  ;  by  carrying  its  merciful  in- 
fluence into  the  very  business  and  bosoms  of  men ;  by  making 
the  ignorant  wise  and  the  miserable  happy;  by  breaking  the 
fetters  of  the  slave,  and  teaching  the  "  babe  and  suckling"  those 
simple  and  sublime  truths  which  give  to  life  its  dignity  and  vir- 
tue, and  fill  immortality  with  hope : — to  whom  do  we  owe  all 
this  ?  Doubtless,  to  the  Plymouth  Pilgrims  !  Happily  did  one 
of  these  fearless  exiles  exclaim,  in  view  of  all  that  was  past,  and 
of  the  blessing,  and  honor,  and  glory,  that  was  yet  to  come, 
**  God  hath  sifted  three  kingdoms,  that  he  might  gather  the 
choice  grain,  and  plant  it  in  the  Avilderness." 

Whelpley. 


136.    woman's  influence. 

The  influence  of  the  female  character  is  now  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged in  all  the  relations  of  her  life.  I  speak  not  now  of 
those  distinguished  women,  who  instruct  their  age  through  the 
public  press ;  nor  of  those  whose  devout  strains  we  take  upon 
our  lips  when  we  worship  ;  but  of  a  much  larger  class  ;  of  those 
whose  influence  is  felt  in  the  relations  of  neighbor,  friend,  daugh- 
ter, wife,  mother.  Who  waits  at  the  couch  of  the  sick  to  ad- 
minister tender  charities  while  life  hngers,  or  to  perform  the 
last  acts  of  kindness  when  death  comes  ?  Where  shall  we  look 
for  those  examples  of  friendship  that  most  adorn  our  nature  ; 
those  abiding  friendships,  which  trust  even  when  betrayed,  and 
survive  all  changes  of  fortune  ?  Where  shall  we  find  the  bright- 
est illustrations  of  filial  piety  ?    Have  you  ever  seen  a  daugliter, 


168  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

herself  perhaps  timid  and  helpless,  watching  the  decline  of  an 
aged  parent,  and  holding  out  with  heroic  fortitude  to  anticipate 
his  wishes,  to  administer  to  his  wants,  and  to  sustain  his  totter- 
ing steps  to  the  very  borders  of  the  grave  ? 

But  in  no  relation  does  woman  exercise  so  deep  an  influence, 
both  immediately  and  prospectively,  as  in  that  of  mother.  To 
her  is  committed  the  immortal  treasure  of  the  infant  mind. 
Upon  her  devolves  the  care  of  the  first  stages  of  that  course  of 
discipline  which  is  to  form,  of  a  being  perhaps  the  most  frail 
and  helpless  in  the  world,  the  fearless  ruler  of  animated  crea- 
tion, and  the  devout  adorer  of  its  great  Creator.  Her  smiles 
Call  into  exercise  the  first  affections  that  spring  up  in  our  hearts. 
She  cherishes  and  expands  the  earliest  gerTns  of  our  intellects. 
She  breathes  over  us  her  deepest  devotions.  She  lifts  our  little 
hands,  and  teaches  our  little  tongues  to  lisp  in  prayer.  She 
watches  over  us,  like  a  guardian  angel,  and  protects  us  through 
all  our  helpless  years,  when  we  know  not  of  her  cares  and  her 
anxieties  on  our  account.  She  follows  us  into  the  world  of  men, 
and  lives  in  us,  and  blesses  us,  when  she  lives  not  otherwise 
upon  the  earth.  j_  ^^  ^^^^^^ 


13Y.      THE  FREEDOM  OF  SCIENCE  IN  AMERICA. 

The  quick  and  keen  sense  of  self-interest,  that  gives  such  sa- 
gacity and  energy  to  the  business  operations  of  this  country,  is 
equally  propitious  to  the  success  of  every  art,  every  discovery, 
invention,  undertaking,  and  science,  that  involves  in  it  any 
amount  of  practical  improvement  or  power.  Hence,  whatever 
of  theoretical  science,  inventive  skill,  ingenious  speculation,  or 
reasoning  eloquence,  can  be  made  to  tell  upon  any  of  the  multi- 
tudinous affairs  making  up  the  business  of  life,  or  to  minister  in 
any  way  to  the  increased  power  or  enjoyment  of  man,  will  soon 
find  ready  attention  for  their  claims.  Here  no  prejudices  in 
favor  of  time-honored  usages  are  strong  enough  long  to  resist 
the  advance  of  scientific  improvement  or  wise  innovation.  So- 
ciety is  not  divided  into  castes,  each  one  of  them  watching  with 
jealous  vigilance  against  any  encroachment  of  their  several  ex- 
clusive walks  by  any  rude  intruder  from  another  class,  them- 
selves clinging  to  the  settled  usages  and  old  forms  of  their  own 
clan,  with  the  steady  pertinacity  of  men  whose  unexamined 
prejudices  are  interwoven  with  their  earliest  habits  and  their 
most  valuable  personal  interests.     If  Science,  descending  from 


OULIAN  C.  VEEPLANCK.  169 

her  starry  throne  in  the  heavens,  light  the  student  to  any  dis- 
covery or  invention  in  any  manner  apphcable  to  the  wants  of  his 
fellow-creatures, — if  Genius  prompt  the  lofty  thought, — if  love 
of  God  or  of  man  inspire  th<3  generous  design,  no  matter  how 
the  novelty  may  astonish  for  the  moment,  no  matter  what 
prejudices  -may  be  shocked,  no  matter  what  interests  may  be 
alarmed  and  band  themselves  against  the  innovator,  let  him  go 
on  undismayed ;  he  advances  to  certain  victory. 

GULIAN  C.  VERrLANCK. 


138,      PRACTICAL  SCHOLARSHIP. 

It  may  well  be  that  there  are  some  meditations  so  subtile  and 
unreal,  some  branches  of  learning  so  remote  from  use,  some  la- 
borious arts  of  refinement  requiring  for  their  successful  cultiva- 
tion such  silent  abstraction  and  unremitting,  undivided  labor  for 
years,  that  they  can  find  no  room  amid  the  strife  and  bustle,  the 
fumum,  strepitumque,  the  railroad  noise  and  rapidity  of  this 
work-day  world  of  America. 

But  if  awed  by  that  veneration  the  scholar  naturally  feels  for 
thos'e  who  consecrate  their  days  and  nights  to  learning,  alterna- 
ting only  between  books  and  the  pen,  you  hesitate  to  allow  the 
superiority  conferred  by  this  variety  and  versatiUty  over  the 
man  of  one  solitary  study,  let  me  appeal  to  the  unvarying  testi- 
mony of  literary  history  for  the  proof.  The  great  men  of  an- 
tiquity, the  models  of  eloquence,  the  fathers  of  poetry,  the 
teachers  of  ethical  wisdom,  the  founders  of  that  ancient  jurispru- 
dence, that  still  rules  the  greater  part  of  the  civilized  world, 
were  none  of  them  solitary  scholars;  none  of  them  were  con- 
tented with  the  *'  half  wisdom  of  books"  alone.  They  performed 
well  all  the  duties  of  war  and  peace  ;  and  their  immortal  w^orks, 
beautiful  in  the  severe  simplicity  of  truth  and  nature,  still  re- 
main "  eternal  monuments" — as  Thucydides,  in  the  calm  con- 
sciousness of  genius,  has  said  of  his  own  majestic  history — eter- 
nal monuments  for  the  good  of  after  ages,  of  things  Wliich  they 
had  themselves  seen  and  done.  ^^^^^  ^  Vekplanck. 

8 


170  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 


139.   INDEPENDENCE  OF  THOUGHT  IN  AMERICA. 

Every  thing  here  is  propitious  to  honest  independence 
of  thought.  Such  an  independence  is  the  presiding  genius  of 
all  our  institutions ;  it  is  the  vital  spirit  that  gives  life  to  the 
whole.  Without  this,  our  constitutions  and  laws,  our  external 
forms  of  equahty,  our  elections,  our  representation,  our  boasted 
liberty  of  speech  and  of  conscience,  are  but  poor  and  beggarly 
elements,  shadows  without  substance,  dead  and  worthle.ss  car- 
casses, from  which  the  living  soul,  the  grace,  the  glory,  the 
strength,  have  forever  fled. 

That  restlessness  of  enterprise,  which  alike  nerves  the  frontier 
settler  to  the  toils  and  adventures  of  the  wilderness,  and  kindles 
the  young  dreams  of  the  political  aspirant,  which  whitens  the 
ocean  with  our  canvas,  drives  the  railroad  through  the  desert, 
and  startles  the  moose  at  his  watering-place,  or  scares  the  eagle 
from  his  high  solitary  perch  with  the  sudden  beat  of  the  steam- 
boat's wheels — ^that  one  and  the  same  ardent,  restless  spirit 
ruling  our  whole  people,  can  have  little  communion  with  that 
abject  prostration  of  intellect,  that  makes  man  crouch  before  his 
fellow,  submitting  his  reason  and  his  conscience  to  another's 
will.  It  is  our  happy  fate  to  know  nothing  personally  of  the 
severer  tyranny  of  power  over  the  conscience.  History  can 
alone  teach  us  what  this  is,  and  how  to  estimate  duly  our  po- 
litical advantages  in  this  respect.  What  then  is  the  history  of 
human  opinions  but  a  long  record  of  martyrdom  for  truth,  for 
religion,  for  private  conscience,  for  public  liberty  ?  Every  mon- 
ument of  antiquity  in  the  Old  World,  like  that  one  of  "  London's 
lasting  shame," 

"  The  Traitor'' s  Gate,  miscalled,  through  which  of  yore 
Past  Kaleigh,  Cranmer,  Kussel,  Sydney,  More," — 

every  vestige  of  the  past  recalls  some  remembrance  of  the 
"  lifted  axe,  the  agonizing  wheel,"  the  scaffold,  the  stake,  and 
the  fagot,  on  which  the  patriot  poured  out  his  life's  blood,  and 
where  the  martyr  breathed  forth  in  torture  his  last  prayer  ol 
triumphant,  forgiving  faith.  But,  traveller,  stop  not  there  tn 
mourn.  Rejoice  rather,  for  these  are  the  monuments  of  tlie. 
victories  of  truth,  of  the  triumph  of  the  self-sustaining,  immor- 
tal mind,  over  the  impotence  of  transient  power.  The  martyrs 
have  conquered.  Their  sentence  is  reversed.  Their  tyrants 
have  passed  away  with  names  blackened  and  branded  by  uni- 
versal scorn.     The  cause  for  which  they  died  has  now  mounted 


GULiAN  c.  t:erplanck.  171 

the  seat  of  worldly  empire,  or  else  is  enthroned  still  more  re- 
gally in  the  hearts  of  millions.  ^^^^^^  C.  Veuplanck. 


140.      AMERICAN  SCHOLARS  NOT  DEPENDENT  UPON  PRIVILEGED 
ORDERS. 

In  other  lands,  pecuniary  dependence  is  too  often  connected 
with  reverence  for  rank,  so  that  they  produce  together  the  most 
complete  vassalage.  The  market  for  intellectual  labor  is  over- 
stocked. Nature's  rich  banquet  is  crowded  with  titled  and  he- 
reditary gviests  ;  "the  table  is  full."  To  emerge  from  the  crowd 
of  menials,  and  obtain  some  share  of  the  feast,  the  unbidden 
scholar  must  attach  himself  to  the  train  of  a  patron,  and  feed 
on  the  alms  his  niggard  bounty  may  bestow.  Such  has  been 
the  degrading  history  of  literary  men,  poets,  authors,  and,  I 
blush  to  add,  philosophers,  throughout  the  world,  for  many 
centuries.  The  facility  with  which  a  sure  and  comfortable  sub- 
sistence may  be  obtained  in  this  country,  and  the  certainty  with 
which  educated  talent,  directed  by  ordinary  discretion  and  in- 
dustry, may  obtain  to  a  decent  competency,  are  such  as  to  ex- 
clude all  temptation,  much  more  all  necessity,  to  follow  in  this 
respect  the  humiliating  example  of  European  learning.  To  such 
evils  "  the  lack  of  means  need  never  drive  us."  If  dazzled  by 
the  false  glitter  of  office,  if  bribed  by  the  doles  of  political  pat- 
ronage, or  by  such  paltry  boons  as  private  interest  can  bestow, 
the  American  scholar  is  ever  weak  enough  to  sell  his  conscience, 
or  bow  down  his  independence  before  a  master,  he  falls  a  vol- 
untary victim.  The  sin  is  his  own  :  his  own  be  the  shame.  Let 
him  not  seek  to  divide  it  with  his  country.  Is  it  not  then  a 
glorious  privilege  to  be  wholly  free  from  the  necessity  of  sucli 
dependence,  never  to  be  forced  by  the  tyrannous  compulsion  of 
need  to  man- worship,  the  meanest  of  all  idolatries  ?  Far  no- 
bler, far  happier,  than  kings  can  make  him,  is  the  lot  of  him 
who  dedicates  his  life  and  his  intellect  to  instruct  and  delight 
the  people ;  Avho  looks  to  them,  not  for  alms  or  bounty,  but  for 
a  just  compensation  in  honor  and  in  profit,  for  the  pleasure  or 
the  instruction  he  affords  them ;  who  seeks  to  serve  them  as  a 
friend,  not  to  fawn  on  them  as  a  flatterer — to  please  them  or  to 
teach  them,  yet  as  having  a  higher  master  and  knowing  the 
solemn  responsibility  of  one  who  acts  upon  the  happiness  or  the 
morals  of  many.     Happy  he  who,  in  the  discharge  of  such  du 


172  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

ties,  leads  none  into  dangerous  error,  lulls  none  into  careless  or 
contemptuous  negligence  of  right,  nor  ever  sullies  the  whiteness 
of  an  innocent  mind.  Happier,  still  happier,  he  who  has  scat- 
tered abroad  into  many  hearts  those  moral  seeds  whence  benev- 
olent and  lieroic  actions  spring  up,  who  has  **  given  ardor  to 
virtue  and  confidence  to  truth,"  or,  in  more  sacred  language, 
"has  turned  many  unto  righteousness."  Such  genius,  fired 
from  heaven's  own  light,  will  continue  to  the  end  of  time  to 
burn  and  spread,  kindling  congenial  flames  far  and  wide,  until 
they  lift  up  their  broad  united  blaze  on  high,  enlightening, 
cheering,  and  gladdening  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

GULIAN  C.  Verplanck. 


141.      THE  INFLUENCE  OF  FREE  INSTITUTIONS  ENNOBLING. 

It  has  been  said  by  shrewd  though  unfriendly  observers,  thai, 
in  America  the  practical  and  the  profitable  swallow  up  every 
other  thought.  There,  say  they,  fancy  withers,  art  languishes, 
taste  expires ;  there  the  mind  looks  only  to  the  material  and  the 
mechanical,  and  loses  its  capacity  for  the  ideal  and  the  abstract. 
But  while  the  intelligent  American  citizen  is  surrounded  by  the 
strongest  temptations  to  devote  himself  solely  to  selfish  pursuits, 
he  is  at  the  same  time  everywhere  invited  to  conform  his  own 
spirit  to  that  of  our  liberal  institutions,  and  instructed  to  uphft 
his  mind  to  the  consideration  of  large  principles,  and  to  regard 
himself  as  being  but  a  small  part  of  the  vast  whole  which  claims 
his  best  affections. 

With  such  a  choice  before  him,  pitiable  indeed  is  the  lot  of 
him  who  turns  from  the  nobler  and  manlier  side,  to  think,  to 
live,  and  to  drudge  for  himself  alone.  He  cuts  himself  off  from 
the  best  delights  of  the  heart,  its  endearing  charities  and  its  ele- 
vating sympathies.  He  paralyzes  his  own  intellect  by  suffering 
it  to  become  half  dead  through  inaction,  and  that  in  its  nobler 
parts.  The  mighty  ladder  of  thought  and  reason,  reaching 
from  the  visible  to  the  invisible — from  the  crude  knowledge 
gained  through  the  senses  to  the  sublimest  inferences  of  the 
pure  reason — from  the  earth  to  the  very  footstool  of  God's  own 
throne — is  before  him  and  invites  his  ascent.  But  he  bends  his 
eyes  obstinately  downwards  upon  the  glittering  ores  at  his  feet, 
until  he  loses  the  wish  or  the  hope  for  any  thing  better. 

That  such  grovelling  materiality,  such  mean  selfishness,  is  not 
the  necessary,  nor  the  constant,  no,  nor  the  frequent  result  of 


GULIAN  C.  VEKPLANCK.  173 

our  ardent  industry  in  the  affairs  of  life,  let  the  discoveries  of 
Franklin,  and  the  magnificent  far-drawn  speculations  of  Ed- 
wards— let  the  grand  philosophy,  and  the  poetic  thought, 
flashing  quick  and  thick  through  the  cloudy  atmosphere  of  po- 
litical discussion  in  our  senate-house — let  the  open-handed 
charity,  tTie  more  than  princely  munificence,  the  untiring  per- 
sonal labors  of  benevolence,  exhibited  by  our  most  devoted  and 
successful  men  of  business,  bear  splendid  testimony. 

GULIAN  C.  VerPLANCK. 


142.      TUE  EVILS  OP  POLITICAL  PARTIES. 

In  our  popular  form  of  government,  the  existence  of  organ- 
ized parties  for  the  promotion  of  any  system  of  policy,  for  the 
success  of  any  principles  of  administration  on  which  opinions  are 
divided,  and  even  for  local  objects  and  questions  that  must  be 
decided  ultimately  by  the  ballot-boxes  and  legislative  action, 
seems  to  he  unavoidable,  and  when  confined  to  their  legitimate 
sphere,  not  only  harmless  but  salutary.  But  no  dispassionate 
man,  who  examines  the  character  of  all  our  pohtical  parties  for  the 
last  few  years,  can  fail  to  perceive  that  there  is  something  in 
their  organization  threatening  to  defeat  the  primary  object  of 
their  own  formation,  and  injurious  to  personal  honor  and  inde- 
pendence. 

By  means  of  this  organization,  the  true  liege-men  of  faction 
learn  to  move  together  with  the  discipline  and  blind  obedience 
of  a  regular  army,  and  to  regard  those  who  do  not  act  with 
them,  not  as  republican  fellow- citizens  who  differ  from  them  in 
opinion  on  some  secondary  though  important  points,  but  as 
aliens  and  enemies.  The  first  who  suffer  the  just  punishment 
of  this  moral  treason,  for  such  it  is,  against  republican  princi- 
ples, are  the  successful  leaders  themselves.  They  deprive 
themselves  at  once  of  the  honest  enthusiasm,  the  cheerful  confi- 
dence that  ever  accompany  the  zealous  support  of  principles. 
They  become  the  timid,  temporizing  slaves  of  expediency,  look- 
ing at  every  step,  not  to  its  justice  or  wisdom,  but  to  its  probable 
popularity.  Tkeir  own  policy  prevents  them  from  relying  for 
respect  and  support  upon  the  broad  judgment  of  all  honest  and 
enlightened  men,  and  when  age  or  adversity  arrives,  when  **  in- 
terest calls  off  all  her  sneaking  train,"  they  are  left  helpless  and 
contemptible.  Such  being  the  pitiable  condition  of  the  mag- 
nates of  faction,  what  must  be  that  of  him  who  follows  at  their 


174  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

heels  as  a  hireling  ;  above  all,  of  the  educated  and  literary  hire^ 
ling  ?  He  has  sold  his  manhood  for  a  little  pelf ;  he  must  re- 
vile, and  he  must  glorify ;  he  must  shout  huzzas,  or  whisper 
calumnies,  just  as  he  is  bidden.  His  time  is  not  his  own.  His 
thoughts  are  not  his  own.     His  soul  is  not  his  own. 

Strange  thing  it  is,  but  true,  that  in  this  our  republic,  the 
land  of  abundance,  the  native  soil  of  independence,  there  may 
be  found  some  Americans  of  talent  and  information  as  abject  in 
the  submission  of  their  understanding  and  will  to  the  dictation 
of  another,  as  was  ever  the  most  awe-struck  courtier  of  the 
Russian  czar,  and  who  can  fawn  upon  the  dispensers  of  office 
with  a  cringing  servility  that  would  have  mantled  with  shame 
the  cheek  of  the  worst  hireling  of  Walpole,  or  the  most  profli- 
gate parasite  of  Dubois,  the  scandal  of  the  church,  or  of  Jef- 
fries,  the  reproach  of  the  law.      _  ^^^^^^  ^^  Veuplanck. 


143.      MILITARY  GLORY. 

The  idea  of  Honor  is  associated  with  war.  But  to  whom 
does  the  honor  belong  ?  If  to  any,  certainly  not  to  the  mass  of 
the  people,  but  to  those  who  are  particularly  engaged  in  it. 
The  mass  of  a  people,  who  stay  at  home  and  hire  others  to 
fight,  who  sleep  in  their  warm  beds  and  hire  others  to  sleep 
on  the  cold  and  damp  earth,  who  sit  at  their  well-spread  board 
and  hire  others  to  take  the  chance  of  starving,  who  nurse  the 
slightest  hurt  in  their  own  bodies  and  hire  others  to  expose 
themselves  to  mortal  wounds  and  to  linger  in  comfortless  hospi- 
tals, certainly  this  mass  reap  little  honor  from  war.  The  honor 
belongs  to  those  immediately  engaged  in  it.  Let  me  ask,  then, 
what  is  the  chief  business  of  war.  It  is  to  destroy  human  life, 
to  mangle  the  limbs,  to  gash  and  hew  the  body,  to  plunge  the 
sword  into  the  heart  of  a  fellow- creature,  to  strew  the  earth 
with  bleeding  frames,  and  to  trample  them  under  foot  with 
horses'  hoofs.  It  is  to  batter  down  and  burn  cities,  to  turn 
fruitful  fields  into  deserts,  to  level  the  cottage  of  the  peasant 
and  the  magnificent  abode  of  opulence,  to  scourge  nations  with 
famine,  to  multiply  widows  and  orphans.  Are  these  honorable 
deeds  ?  Were  you  called  to  name  exploits  worthy  of  demons, 
would  you  not  naturally  select  such  as  these  ?  Grant  that  a 
necessity  for  them  may  exist ;  it  is  a  dreadful  necessity,  such  as 
a  good  man  must  recoil  from  with  instinctive  horror;  and  though 


DE.  CHANNING.  175 

it  may  exempt  them  from  guilt,  it  cannot  turn  them  into  glory. 
We  have  thought  that  it  Was  honorable  to  heal,  to  save,  to 
mitigate  pain,  to  snatch  the  sick  and  sinking  from  the  jaws  of 
death.  We  have  placed  among  the  revered  benefactors  of  the 
human  race,  the  discoverers  of  arts  which  alleviate  human  suf- 
ferings, which  prolong,  comfort,  adorn,  and  cheer  human  life, 
and  if  these  arts  be  honorable,  where  is  the  glory  of  multiply- 
ing and.aggravating  tortures  and  death  ? 

Db*  Chanking. 


144.      FALSE  COURAGE. 

Courage,  considered  in  itself,  or  without  reference  to  its  ori- 
gin and  motives,  and  regarded  in  its  common  manifestations,  is 
not  virtue,  is  not  moral  excellence ;  and  the  disposition  to  exalt 
it  above  the  spirit  of  Christianity  is  one  of  the  most  ruinous  de- 
lusions which  have  been  transmitted  to  us  from  barbarous 
times.  In  most  men,  courage  has  its  origin  in  a  happy  organi- 
zation of  the  body.  It  belongs  to  the  nerves  rather  than  to  the 
character.  In  some,  it  is  an  instinct  bordering  on  rashness.  In 
one  man  it  springs  from  strong  passions  obscuring  the  idea  of 
danger.  In  another,  from  the  want  of  imagination,  or  from  the 
capacity  of  bringing  future  evils  near.  The  courage  of  the  un- 
educated may  often  be  traced  to  stupidity,  to  the  absence  of 
thought  and  sensibility.  Many  are  courageous  from  the  dread 
of  the  infamy  absurdly  attached  to  cowardice.  One  terror  ex- 
pels another.  A  bullet  is  less  formidable  than  a  sneer.  To 
show  the  moral  worthlessness  of  mere  courage,  of  contempt  of 
bodily  suffering  and  pain,  one  consideration  is  sufficient.  The 
most  abandoned  have  possessed  it  in  perfection.  The  villain 
often  hardens  into  the  thorough  hero,  if  courage  and  heroism  be 
one.  The  more  complete  his  success  in  searing  conscience  and 
defying  God,  the  more  dauntless  his  daring.  Loijg-continued 
vice  and  exposure  naturally  generate  contempt  of  life  and  a 
reckless  encounter  of  peril.  Courage,  considered  in  itself,  or 
without  reference  to  its  causes,  is  no  virtue,  and  deserves  no  es- 
teem. It  is  found  in  the  best  and  the  worst,  and  is  to  be 
judged  according  to  the  quahties  from  which  it  springs  and  with 
which  it  is  conjoined.  De.  CnANKiNa. 


IT^  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSB. 


145.      TRUE  COURAGE, 


There  is  a  virtuous^  glorious  courage  ;  but  it  liappens  to  be 
found  least  in  those  who  are  most  admired  for  bravery.  It  is 
the  courage  of  principle,  which  dares  to  da  right  in  the  face  of 
scorn,  which  puts  to  hazard  reputation,  rank,  the  prospects  (A 
advancement,  the  sympathy  of  friends,  the  admiration  of  the 
world,  rather  than  violate  a  conviction  of  duty.  It  is  the  cour- 
age of  benevolence  and  piety,  which  counts  not  life  dear  in 
withstanding  error,  superstition,  vice,  oppression,  injustice,  and 
the  mightiest  foes  of  human  improvement  and  happiness.  It  is 
moral  energy,  that  force  of  will  in  adopting  duty,  over  which 
menace  and  suffering  have  no  power.  It  is  the  courage  of  a 
soul  which  reverences  itself  too  much  to  be  greatly  moved  about 
what  befalls  the  body  ;  which  thirsts  so  intensely  for  a  pure  in- 
ward life,  that  it  can  yield  up  the  animal  life  without  fear ;  in 
which  the  idea  of  moral,  spiritual,  celestial  good  has  been  un- 
folded so  brightly  as  to  obscure  all  worldly  interests  ;  which 
aspires  after  immortality,  and  therefore  heeds  little  the  pains  or 
pleasures  of  a  day ;  which  has  so  concentered  its  whole  power 
and  life  in  the  love  of  Godlike^  virtue,  that  it  even  finds  a  joy  in 
the  perils  and  sufferings  by  which  its  loyalty  to  God  and  virtue 
may  be  approved.  This  courage  may  be  called  the  perfection 
of  humanity,  for  it  is  the  exercise,  result,  and  expression  of  the 
highest  attributes  of  our  nature.  P^  Channing. 


146.      MILITARY  COURAGE. 

The  courage  of  military  and  ordinary  life,  instead  of  resting 
on  high  and  unchangeable  principles,  finds  its  chief  motive  in 
the  opinions  of  the  world,  and  its  chief  reward  in  vu)gar  praise. 
Superior  to  bodily  pain,  it  crouches  before  censure,  and  dares 
not  face  the  scorn  which  faithfulness  to  God  and  unpopular  duty 
must  often  incur.  It  wears  the  appearance  of  energy,  because 
it  conquers  one  strong  passion,  fear ;  but  the  other  passions  it 
leaves  unmastered,  and  thus  differs  essentially  from  moral 
strength  or  greatness,  which  consists  in  subjecting  all  appetites 
and  desires  to  a  pure  and  high  standard  of  rectitude.  Brilliant 
courage,  as  it  is  called,  so  far  from  being  a  principle  of  universal 
self-control,  is  often  joined  with  degrading  pleasures,  with  a 
lawless  spirit,  with  general  licentiousness  of  manners,  with  a 


DE.  CHATOTINO.  177 

hardihood  which  defies  God  as  well  as  man,  and  which,  not 
satisfied  with  scorning  death,  contemns  the  judgment  that  is  to 
follow.  So  wanting  in  moral  worth  is  the  bravery  which  has 
so  long  been  praised,  sung,  courted,  adored.  It  is  time  that  it 
should  be  understood.  It  is  time  that  the  old,  barbarous,  indis- 
criminate worship  of  mere  courage  should  give  place  to  a  wise 
moral  judgment.  This  fanaticism  has  done  much  to  rob  Chris- 
tianity of  its  due  honor.  Men,  who  give  their  sympathies  and 
homage  to  the  fiery  and  destructive  valor  of  the  soldier,  will  see 
little  attraction  in  the  mild  and  peaceful  spirit  of  Jesus.  His 
unconquerable  forbearance,  the  most  genuine  and  touching  ex- 
pression of  his  divine  philanthropy,  may  even  seem  to  them  a 
weakness.  Will  this  delusion  never  cease  ?  Will  men  never 
learn  to  reverence  disinterested  love?  Shall  the  desolations 
and  woes  of  ages  bear  their  testimony  in  vain  against  the 
false  glory  which  has  so  long  dazzled  the  world  ?  I  do  not 
ask  these  questions  in  despair.  Whilst  we  lament  the  lim- 
ited triumphs  of  Christianity  over  false  notions  of  honor,  we 
see  and  ought  to  recognize  its  progress.  War  is  not  now  the 
only  or  chief  path  to  glory.  The  greatest  names  are  not  now 
written  in  blood.  The  purest  fame  is  the  meed  of  genius,  phi- 
losophy, philanthropy,  and  piety,  devoting  themselves  to  the 
best  interests  of  humanity.  The  passion  for  military  glory  is  no 
longer,  as  once,  able  of  itself  to  precipitate  nations  into  war. 

Dk.  Channing. 


147.      THE  MORAL  CHARACTER  OF  WAR. 

A  NATION,  in  declaring  war,  should  be  lifted  above  its  passions 
by  the  fearfulness  and  solemnity  of  the  act.  It  should  appeal 
with  unfeigned  confidence  to  heaven  and  earth  for  its  upright- 
ness of  purpose.  It  should  go  forth  as  the  champion  of  truth 
and  justice,  as  the  minister  of  God,  to  vindicate  and  sustain 
that  great  moral  and  national  law,  without  which  life  has  no 
security,  and  social  improvements  no  defence.  It  should  be 
inspired  with  invincible  courage,  not  by  its  passions,  but  by  the 
dignity  and  holiness  of  its  cause.  Nothing  in  the  whole  com- 
pass of  legislation  is  so  solemn  as  a  declaration  ef^war.  By 
nothing  do  a  people  incur  such  tremendous  responsibility. 
Unless  justly  waged,  war  involves  a  people  in  the  guilt  of  miu-- 
der.  The  state  which,  without  the  command  of  justice  and 
God,  sends  our  fleets  and  armies  to  slaughter  fellow-creatures, 

8* 


178  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

must  answer  for  the  blood  it  sheds,  as  truly  as  the  assassin  for 

the  death  of   his  victim.     Oh,  how  loudly  does  the  voice  of 

blood  cry  to  heaven  from  the  field  of  battle  !     Undoubtedly, 

the  men  whose  names  have  come  down  to  us  with  the  loudest 

shouts  of  ages,  stand  now  before  the  tribunal  of  eternal  justice 

condemned  as  murderers ;  and  the  victories,  which  have  been 

thought  to  encircle  a  nation  with  glory,  have  fixed  the  same 

brand  on  multitudes  in  the  sight  of  the  final  and  Almighty 

Judee.  T.    n 

•^  Dr.  Channing. 


148.      TRUTH. 


Force  of  thought  may  be  put  forth  to  amass  wealth  for 
selfish  gratification,  to  give  the  individual  power  over  others,  to 
blind  others,  to  weave  a  web  of  sophistry,  to  cast  a  deceitful 
lustre  on  vice,  to  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  cause.  But 
energy  of  thought,  so  employed,  is  suicidal.  The  intellect,  in 
becoming  a  pander  to  vice,  a  tool  of  the  passions,  an  advocate  of 
lies,  becomes  not  only  degraded,  but  diseased.  It  loses  the 
capacity  of  distinguishing  truth  from  falsehood,  good  from  evil, 
right  from  wrong ;  it  becomes  as  worthless  as  an  eye  which 
cannot  distinguish  between  colors  or  forms.  Woe  to  that 
mind  which  wants  the  love  of  truth  !  For  want  of  this,  genius 
has  become  a  scourge  to  the  world;  its  breath  a  poisonous 
exhalation  ;  its  brightness  a  seducer  into  paths  of  pestilence  and 
death.  Truth  is  the  light  of  the  Infinite  Mind,  and  the  image 
of  God  in  his  creatures.  Nothing  endures  but  truth.  The 
dreams,  fictions,  theories  which  men  would  substitute  for  it, 
soon  die.  "Without  its  guidance,  effort  is  vain,  and  hope  base- 
less. Accordingly,  the  love  of  truth,  a  deep  thirst  for  it,  a 
deliberate  purpose  to  seek  it  and  hold  it  fast,  may  be  considered 
•as  the  very  foundation  of  human  culture  and  dignity.  Precious 
as  thought  is,  the  love  of  truth  is  still  more  precious;  for 
without  it,  thought  wanders  and  wastes  itself,  and  precipitates 
men  into  guilt  and  misery.  ^^^  CnKsm^o. 


149.      THOUGHT,  THE   PRIVILEGE  OF  ALL  MEN. 

1  DENY  to  any  individual  or  class  a  monopoly  of  thought. 
Who  among  men  can  show  God's  commission  to  think  for  hi> 


Dll.  CHANNING.  179 

brethren,  to  shape  passively  the  intellect  of  the  mass,  to  stamp 
his  own  image  on  them  as  if  they  were  wax  ?  As  well  might 
a  few  claim  a  monopoly  of  light  and  air,  of  seeing  and  breathing, 
as  of  thought.  Is  not  the  intellect  as  universal  a  gift  as  the 
organs  of  sight  and  respiration  ?  Is  not  truth  as  freely  spread 
abroad  as'the  atmosphere  or  the  sun's  rays  ?  Can  we  imagine 
that  God's  highest  gifts  of  intelligence,  imagination,  and  moral 
power,  were  bestowed,  to  provide  only  for  animal  wants  ?  to 
be  denied  the  natural  means  of  growth,  which  is  action  ?  to  be 
starved  by  dnidgery  ?  Were  the  mass  of  men  made  to  be 
monsters  ?  to  grow  only  in  a  few  organs  and  faculties,  and  to 
pine  away  and  shrivel  in  others  ?  or  were  they  made  to  put  forth 
all  the  powers  of  men,  especially  the  best  and  most  distinguish- 
ing ?  No  man,  not  the  lowest,  is  all  hands,  all  bones  and 
muscles.  The  mind  is  more  essential  to  human  nature,  and 
more  enduring  than  the  hmbs ;  and  was  this  made  to  lie  dead  ? 
Is  not  thought  the  right  and  duty  of  all  ?  Is  not  truth  alike 
precious  to  all  ?  Is  not  truth  the  natural  aliment  of  the  mind, 
as  plainly  as  the  wholesome  grain  is  of  the  body  ?  Is  not  the 
nl'md  adapted  to  thought,  as  plainly  as  the  eye  to  light,  the  ear 
to  sound  ?  Who  dares  to  withhold  it  from  its  natural  action — 
its  natural  element  and  joy  ?  Undoubtedly,  some  men  are  more 
gifted  than  others,  and  are  marked  out  for  more  studious  lives. 
But  the  work  of  such  men  is  not  to  do  other's  thinking  for 
them,  but  to  help  them  to  think  more  vigorously  and  effectually. 
Great  minds  are  to  make  others  great.  Their  superiority  is  to 
be  used,  not  to  break  the  multitude  to  intellectual  vassalage — 
not  to  estabhsh  over  them  a  spiritual  tyranny,  .but  to  rouse 
them  from  lethargy  and  to  aid  them  to  judge  for  themselves. 
The  light  and  life  which  spring  up  in  one  soul  are  to  be  spread 
far  and  wide.  Of  all  treasons  against  humanity,  there  is  no  one 
worse  than  his,  Avho  employs  great  intellectual  force  to  keep 
down  the  intellect  of  his  less  favored  brother,      -q^  Channin 


150.      THE  CAPACITY  OF  THE    PEOPLE  FOR  KNOWLEDGE. 

The  mass  of  the  people,  it  is  said,  can  go  to  the  bottom  of 
nothing ;  and  the  result  of  stimulating  them  to  thought,  will 
be  the  formation  of  a  dangerous  set  of  half-thinkers.  To  this 
argument,  I  reply,  first,  that  it  has  the  inconvenience  of  proving 
feoo  much ;  for,  if  valid,  it  shows  that  none  of  any  class  ought 


180  SELECTIONS  IK  PKOSE. 

to  tliink.  For  who,  I  would  ask,  can  go  to  the  bottom  of  anj^ 
thing  ?  Whose  "  learning"  is  not  "  little  ?"  Whose  "  draughts" 
©f  knowledge  are  not  "  shallow  ?"  Who  of  us  has  fathomed 
the  depths  of  a  single  product  of  nature,  or  a  single  event  in 
history?  Who  of  us  is  not  baffled  by  the  mysteries  in  a  grain 
of  sand  ?  How  contracted  the  range  of  the  widest  intellect ! 
But  is  our  knowledge,  because  so  little,  of  no  worth  ?  Are  we 
to  despise  the  lessons  which  are  taught  us  in  this  nook  of  crea- 
tion— in  this  narrow  round  of  human  experience— because  an 
infinite  universe  stretches  around  us,  which  we  have  no  means 
of  exploring,  and  in  which  the  earth,  and  sun,  and  planets, 
dwindle  to  a  point?  We  should  remember,  that  the  known, 
however  little  it  may  be,  is  in  harmony  with  the  boundless 
unknown,  and  a  step  towards  it.  We  should  remember,  too, 
that  the  gravest  tiiiths  may  be  gathered  from  a  very  narrow 
compass  of  information.  God  is  revealed  in  his  smallest  work 
as  truly  as  in  his  greatest.  The  principles  of  human  nature 
may  be  studied  better  in  a  family  than  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  The  finite  is  a  manifestation  of  the  infinite.  Great  ideas 
are  within  the  reach  of  every  man  who  thirsts  for  truth  a"ml 
seeks  it  with  singleness  of  mind.  The  laboring  class  are  not 
now  condemned  to  draughts  of  knowledge  so  shallow  as  to 
merit  scorn.  Many  of  them  know  more  of  the  outward  world 
than  all  the  philosophers  of  antiquity ;  and  Christianity  has 
opened  to  them  mysteries  of  the  spiritual  world,  which  kings 
and  prophets  were  not  privileged  to  understand.  And  are  they, 
then,  to  be  doomed  to  spiritual  inaction,  as  incapable  of  useful 

thoUP-ht  ?  -n      n 

^  Dr.  CbanninGw 


151.       TlIE  MOBILITY  OF  MIND. 

That  some  should  be  richer  than  others  is  natural,  and  is 
necessary,  and  could  only  be  prevented  by  gi-oss  violations  of 
right.  Leave  men  to  the  free  use  of  their  powers,  and  some 
will  accumulate  more  than  their  neighbors.  But,  to  be  pros- 
perous is  not  to  be  superior,  and  should  form  no  barrier  between 
men.  Wealth  ought  not  to  secure  to  the  prosperous  the 
slightest  consideration.  The  only  distinctions  which  should  be 
recognized  are  those  of  the  soul,  of  strong  principle,  of  incor- 
ruptible integrity,  of  usefulness,  of  cultivated  intellect,  of 
fidelity  in  seeking  for  truth.     A  man,  in  proportion  as  he  has 


DR.  CHANNING.  18J 

these  claims,  should  be  honored  and  welcomed  everywhere. 
Such  a  man,  however  coarsely,  if  neatly,  dressed,  should  be  a 
respected  guest  in  the  most  splendid  mansions,  and  at  the  most 
brilliant  meetings.  A  man  is  worth  infinitely  more  than  the 
saloons,  and  the  costumes,  and  the  show  of  the  universe.  He 
was  made  to  tread  all  these  beneath  his  feet.  What  an  insult 
to  humanity  is  the  present  deference  to  dress  and  upholstery, 
as  if  silkworms,  and  looms,  and  scissors,  and  needles  could  pro- 
duce something  nobler  than  a  man !  Every  good  man  should 
protest  against  a  caste  founded  on  outward  prosperity,  because 
it  exalts  the  outward  above  the  inward,  the  material  above  the 
spiritual ;  because  it  springs  from  and  cherishes  a  contemptible 
pride  in  superficial  and  transitory  distinctions ;  because  it  alien- 
ates man  from  his  brother,  breaks  the  tie  of  common  humanity, 
and  breeds  jealousy,  scorn,  and  mutual  ill-will.  Can  this  be 
needed  to  social  order  ? 

In  rude  ages,  it  keeps  the  people  down ;  but  when  the 
people,  by  degrees,  have  risen  to  some  consciousness  of  their 
rights  and  essential  equality  with  the  rest  of  the  race,  the  awe 
of  rank  naturally  subsides,  and  passes  into  suspicion,  jealousy, 
and  sense  of  injur}^,  and  a  disposition  to  resist.  The  very  insti- 
tution which  once  restrained,  now  provokes.  Through  this 
process  the  Old  World  is  now  passing.  The  strange  illusion 
that  a  man,  because  he  wears  a  garter  or  ribbon,  or  was  bom  to 
a  title,  belongs  to  another  race,  is  fading  away ;  and  society 
must  pass  through  a  series  of  revolutions,  silent  or  bloody,  until 
a  more  natural  order  takes  place  of  distinctions  which  grew 
originally  out  of  force.  Thus  aristocracy,  instead  of  giving 
order  to  society,  now  convulses  it ;  so  impossible  is  it  for  arbi- 
trary human  ordinations  permanently  to  degrade  human  nature, 
or  subvrrt  the  principles  of  justice  and  freedom. 

Dr.  Channing. 


152.     SOCIAL  CHANGES. 

Suppose  that  the  happiest  of  all  ages  were  the  feudal,  when 
aristocracy  was  in  its  flower  and  glory ;  when  the  noble,  superior 
to  the  laws,  committed  more  murders  in  one  year  than  the 
multitude  in  tAventy.  Suppose  it  best  for  the  laborer  to  live 
and  die  in  thoughtless  ignorance.  AIIoav  all  this,  and  that  we 
have  reason  to  look  with  envy  on  the  past ;  one  thing  is  plain  : 
the  past  is  gone,  the  feudal  castle  is  dismantled,  the  distance 


182  SELECTIONS  IN  TEOSE. 

between  classes  greatly  reduced.  Unfortunate  as  it  may  be, 
the  people  have  begun  to  think,  to  ask  reasons  for  what  they 
do  and  suffer  and  believe,  and  to  call  the  past  to  account.  Old 
spells  are  broken,  old  reliances  gone.  Men  can  no  longer  be 
kept  down  by  pageantry,  state  robes,  forms,  and  shows.  Allow- 
ing it  to  be  best,  that  society  should  rest  on  the  depression  of 
the  multitude,  the  multitude  will  no  longer  be  quiet  when  they 
are  trodden  under  foot,  but  ask  impatiently  for  a  reason  why 
they  too  may  not  have  a  share  in  social  blessings.  Such  is  the 
state  of  things,  and  we  must  make  the  best  of  what  we  cannot 
prevent.  Right  or  wrong,  the  people  will  think  ;  and  is  it  not 
important  that  they  should  think  justly  ?  that  they  should  be 
inspired  with  the  love  of  truth,  and  instructed  how  to  seek  it  ? 
that  they  should  be  established  by  wise  culture  in  the  great 
principles  on  which  religion  and  society  rest,  and  be  protected 
from  skepticism  and  wild  speculation  by  intercourse  with  en- 
lightened and  virtuous  men?  It  is  plain,  that  in  the  actual 
state  of  the  world,  nothing  can  avail  us,  but  a  real  improve- 
ment of  the  mass  of  the  people.  No  stable  foundation  can 
be  laid  for  us  but  in  men's  minds.  Alarming  as  the  truth  is,  it 
should  be  told,  that  outward  institutions  cannot  now  secure,  us. 
Mightier  powers  than  institutions  have  come  into  play  among 
lis — the  judgment,  the  opinions,  the  feelings  of  the  many ;.  and 
all  hopes  of  stability,  which  do  not  rest  on  the  progress  of  the 
many,  must  perish.  Du.  Chanxinq 


153.      THE  VALUE  OF  BOOKS. 

One  of  the  very  interesting  features  of  our  times,  is  the  multi- 
plication of  books,  and  their  distribution  through  all  conditions 
of  society.  Once  confined  to  a  few  by  their  costliness,  they  are 
now  accessible  to  the  multitude ;  and  in  this  way  a  change  of 
habits  is  going  on  in  society,  highly  favorable  to  the  culture  of 
the  people.  Instead  of  depending  on  casual  rumor  and  loose 
conversation  for  most  of  their  knowledge  and  objects  of  thought ; 
instead  of  forming  their  judgments  in  crowds,  and  receiving 
their  chief  excitement  from  the  voice  of  neighbors,  men  are  now 
learning  to  study  and  reflect  alone,  to  follow  out  subjects  con- 
tinuously, to  determine  for  themselves  what  shall  engage  their 
minds,  and  to  call  to  their  aid  the  knowledge,  original  views, 
and  reasonings  of  men  of  all  countries  and  asjes  ;  and  the  results 


DK.  CIIANNING.  ISS 

must  be,  a  deliberateness  and  independence  of  judgment,  and  a 
thoroughness  and  extent  of  information,  unknown  in  former 
times.  The  diffusion  of  these  silent  teachers,  books,  through 
the  whole  community,  is  to  work  greater  effects  than  artillery, 
machinery,  and  legislation.  They  are  cheering  or  soothing  com- 
panions in-  solitude,  illness,  affliction.  The  wealth  of  both  con- 
tinents would  be  no  equivalent  for  the  good  they  impart. 

In  the  best  books,  great  men  talk  to  us,  give  us  their  most  pre- 
cious thoughts,  and  pour  their  souls  into  ours.  God  be  thanked 
for  books.  They  are  the  voices  of  the  distant  and  the  dead,  and 
make  us  heirs  of  the  spiritual  life  of  past  ages,  f  Books  are  the  true 
levellers.  They  give  to  all,  who  will  faithfully  use  them,  the 
society,  the  spiritual  presence  of  the  best  and  greatest  of  our 
race,  j  No  matter  how  poor  I  am.  No  matter  though  the  pros- 
perous of  my  own  time  will  not  enter  my  obscure  dwelling.  If 
the  Sacred  Writers  will  enter  and  take  up  their  abode  under  my 
loof ;  if  Milton  will  cross  my  threshold  to  sing  to  me  of  paradise, 
and  Shakspeare  to  open  to  me  the  worlds  of  imagination  and 
the  workings  of  the  human  heart,  and  Franklin  to  enrich  me 
with  his  practical  wisdom,  I  shall  not  pine  for  want  of  intellectual 
companionship.  ^^^  Q^m^,^^ 


154.     HARD  WORK. 

I  HAVE  great  faith  in  hard  work.  The  material  world  does 
much  for  the  mind  by  its  beauty  and  order ;  but  it  does  more  for 
our  minds  by  the  pains  it  inflicts,  by  its  obstinate  resistance 
which  nothing  but  patient  toil  can  overcome,  by  its  vast  forces 
which  nothing  but  unremitting  skill  and  effort  can  turn  to  our 
use,  by  its  perils  which  demand  continual  vigilance,  and  by  its 
tendencies  to  decay.  I  believe  that  difficulties  are  more  impor- 
tant to  the  human  mind  than  what  we  call  assistances.  Work 
we  all  must,  if  we  mean  to  bring  out  and  perfect  our  nature. 
Even  if  we  do  not  work  with  the  hands,  we  must  undergo 
equivalent  toil  in  some  other  direction.  No  business  or  study 
which  does  not  present  obstacles,  tasking  to  the  full  the  intellect 
and  the  will,  is  worthy  of  a  man.  In  science,  he  who  does  not 
grapple  with  hard  questions,  who  does  not  concentrate  his  whole 
intellect  in  vigorous  attention,  who  does  not  aim  to  penetrate 
what  at  first  repels  him,  will  never  attain  to  mental  force.  The 
uses  of  toil  reach  beyond  the  present  world.     The  capacity  of 


184:  '  SELECTIONS  IN"  PEOSE. 

steady,  earnest  labor  is,  I  apprehend,  one  of  our  great  prepani. 
tions  for  another  state  of  being.  When  I  see  the  vast  amount 
of  toil  required  of  men,  I  feel  that  it  must  have  important  con- 
nections with  their  future  existence  ;  and  that  he  who  has  mel" 
this  discipline  manfully,  has  laid  one  essential  foundation  of  im- 
provement, exertion,  and  happiness  in  the  world  to  come.  You 
will  here  see  that  labor  has  great  dignity.  It  is  not  merely  the 
grand  instrument,  by  which  the  earth  is  overspread  with  fruit- 
fulness  and  beauty,  and  the  ocean  subdued,  and  matter  wrought 
into  innumerable  forms  for  comfort  and  ornament.  It  has  a  far 
higher  function,  which  is  to  give  force  to  the  will,  efficiency, 
courage,  the  capacity  of  endurance  and  of  persevering  devotion 
to  far-reaching  plans.  Alas,  for  the  man  who  has  not  learned 
to  work  !  He  is  a  poor  creature.  He  does  not  know  himself. 
He  depends  on  others,  with  no  capacity  of  making  returns  for 
the  support  they  give ;  and  let  him  not  fancy  that  he  has  a 
monopoly  of  enjoyment.  Ease,  rest,  owes  its  deliciousness  to 
toil ;  and  no  toil  is  so  burdensome  as  the  rest  of  him  who  has 
nothing  to  task  and  quicken  his  powers.  jy^  Channino 


155.     THE  DIGNITY  OF  HUMAN  NATURE. 

You  are  a  man ;  you  are  a  rational  and  religious  being ;  you 
are  an  immortal  creature.  Yes,  a  glad  and  glorious  existence 
is  yours  ;  your  eye  is  opened  to  the  lovely  and  majestic  vision  of 
nature  ;  the  paths  of  knowledge  are  around  you,  and  they 
stretch  onward  to  eternity  ;  and,  most  of  all,  the  glory  of  the 
infinite  God,  the  all-perfect,  all-wise,  and  all-beautiful,  is  un- 
folded to  you.  What  now,  compared  with  this,  is  a  little 
worldly  renown  ?  The  treasures  of  infinity  and  of  eternity  are 
heaped  iipon  thy  laboring  thought ; — can  that  thought  be 
deeply  occupied  with  questions  of  mortal  prudence  ?  It  is  as 
if  a  man  were  enriched  by  some  generous  benefactor  almost 
beyond  measure,  and  should  find  nothing  else  to  do  but  vex 
himself  and  complain,  because  another  man  was  made  a  few 
thousands  richer. 

Where,  unreasonable  complainer,  dost  thou  stand,  and  what 
is  around  thee?  The  world  spreads  before  thee  its  sublime 
mysteries,  where  the  thoughts  of  sages  lose  themselves  in 
wonder ;  the  ocean  lifts  up  its  eternal  anthems  to  thine  ear ; 
the  golden  sun  lights  thy  path  ;  the  wide  heavens  stretch  them* 


DE.  O.  DEWEY.  185 

selves  above  thee,  and  worlds  rise  upon  worlds,  and  systems 
beyond  systems,  to  infinity ;  and  dost  thou  stand  in  the  centre 
of  all  this,  to  complain  of  thy  lot  and  place  ?  Pupil  of  that 
infinite  teaching — minister  at  nature's  great  altar — child  of 
heaven's  favor — ennobled  being — redeemed  creature, — ^must 
thou  pine*  in  sullen  and  envious  melancholy,  amidst  the  plenitude 
of  the  whole  creation  ! 

In  that  thou  art  a  man,  thou  art  infinitely  exalted  above  what 
any  man  can  be,  in  that  he  is  praised.  I  would  rather  be  the 
humblest  man  in  the  world,  than  barely  be  thought  greater 
than  the  greatest.  The  beggar  is  greater,  as  a  man,  than  is  the 
man,  merely  as  a  king.  Not  one  of  the  crowds  that  listened  to 
the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero — Bot  one  who  has 
bent  with  admiration  over  the  pages  of  Homer  and  Shakspeare 
— not  one  who  followed  in  the  train  of  Cfesar  or  of  Napoleon, 
would  part  with  the  humblest  power  of  thought,  for  all  the 
fame  that  is  echoing  over  the  world  and  through  the  ages. 

Dr.  0.  Dewey. 


156.      ATTENTION,  THE   SOUL  OF  GENIUS. 

The  favorite  idea  of  a  genius  among  us  is,  of  one  who  never 
studies,  or  who  studies,  nobody  can  tell  when — at  midnight,  or 
at  odd  times  and  intervals  ;  and  now  and  then  strikes  out,  "  at  a 
heat,"  as  the  phrase  is,  some  wonderful  production.  "  The 
young  man,"  it  is  often  said,  "  has  genius  enough,  if  he  would 
only  study."  Now,  the  truth  is,  that  the  genius  will  study ;  it 
is  that .  in  the  mind  which  does  study  :  that  is  the  very  nature 
of  it.  l(l  care  not  to  say  that  it  will  always  use  books.  All 
study  is  not  reading,  any  more  than  all  reading  is  study:'] 

Attention  is  the  very  soul  of  genius ;  not  the  fixed  eye,  not 
the  poring  over  a  book,  but  the  fixed  thought.  It  is,  in  fact,  an 
action  of  the  mind,  wliich  is  steadily  concentrated  upon  one 
idea,  or  one  series  of  ideas ;  which  collects,  in  one  point,  the 
rays  of  the  soul,  till  they  search,  penetrate,  and  fire  the  whole 
train  of  its  thoughts.  And  while  the  fire  burns  within,  the 
outside  may  be  indeed  cold,  indifferent,  negligent,  absent  in 
appearance :  he  may  be  an  idler,  or  a  wanderer,  apparently 
without  aim  or  intent;  but  still  the  fire  burns  within.  And 
what,  though  "  it  bursts  forth"  at  length,  as  has  been  said,  **  like 
volcanic  fires,  with  spontaneous,  original,  native  force?"  It 
only  shows  the  intense  action  of  the  elements  beneath.     What, 


186  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

though  it  breaks  forth,  like  lightning  from  the  cloud  ?  The 
electric  fire  had  been  collecting  in  the  firmament,  through  many 
a  silent,  clear,  and  calm  day.  What,  though  the  might  of 
genius  appears  in  one  decisive  blow,  struck  in  some  moment  of 
high  debate,  or  at  the  crisis  of  a  nation's  peril !  That  mighty 
energy,  though  it  may  have  heaved  in  the  breast  of  Demos- 
thenes, was  once  a  feeble,  infant  thought.  A  mother's  eye 
watched  over  its  dawnings.  A  father's  care  guarded  its  early 
youth.  It  soon  trod,  with  youthful  steps,  the  halls  of  learning, 
and  found  other  fathers  to  wake  and  to  watch  for  it,  even  as  it 
finds  them  here.  It  went  on;  but  silence  was- upon  its  path, 
and  the  deep  strugglings  of  the  inward  soul  silently  ministered 
to  it.  The  elements  around  breathed  upon  it,  and  "  touched  it 
to  finer  issues."  The  golden  ray  of  heaven  fell  upon  it,  and 
ripened  its  expanding  faculties.  The  slow  revolutions  of  years 
slowly  added  to  its  collected  energies  and  treasures ;  till,  in  its 
hour  of  glory,  it  stood  forth  embodied  in  the  form  of  living, 
commanding,  irresistible  eloquence.  The  world  wonders  at  the 
manifestation,  and  says,  "  Strange,  strange  that  it  should  come 
thus  unsought,  unpremeditated,  unprepared  !"  But  the  truth 
is,  there  is  no  more  a  miracle  in  it,  than  there  is  in  the  towering 
of  the  pre-eminent  forest-tree,  or  in  the  flowing  of  the  mighty 
and  irresistible  river,  or  in  the  wealth  and  waving  of  the  bound- 
less harvest.  P^_  ^^  ^^^^^^ 


157.      THE  NOBILITY  OF  LABOR. 

Why,  in  the  great  scale  of  things,  is  labor  ordained  for  us  ? 
Easily,  had  it  so  pleased  the  great  Ordainer,  might  it  have  been 
dispensed  with.  The  world  itself  might  have  been  a  mighty 
machinery  for  producing  all  that  man  wants.  Houses  might 
have  risen  like  an  exhalation, 

'  "  With  the  sound 

Of  dulcet  symphonies,  and  voices  sweet, 
Built  like  a  temple." 

Gorgeous  furniture  might  have  been  placed  in  them,  and  soft 
couches  and  luxurious  banquets  spread,  by  hands  unseen ;  and 
man,  clothed  with  fabrics  of  nature's  weaving,  rather  than  with 
imperial  purple,  might  have  been  sent  to  disport  himself  in  those 
Elysian  palaces. 

But   where,   then,  had   been  human   energy,  perseverance. 


DE.  O.  DEWEY. DU.  F.  WATLAND,  187 

patience,  virtue,  heroism  ?  Cut  off  labor  -with  one  blow  from 
the  world,  and  mankind  had  sunk  to  a  crowd  of  Asiatic  volup- 
tuaries. 

Better  that  the  earth  be  given  to  man  as  a  dark  mass,  where- 
upon to  labor.  Better  that  rude  and  unsightly  materials  be 
provided  in*  the  ore-bed,  and  in  the  forest,  for  him  to  fashion 
in  splendor  and  beauty.  Better,  not  because  of  that  splen- 
dor and  beauty,  but  because  the  act  of  creating  them  is  better 
than  the  things  themselves  ;  because  exertion  is  nobler  than 
enjoyment ;  because  the  laborer  is  greater  and  more  worthy  of 
honor  than  the  idler. 

Labor  is  heaven's  great  ordinance  for  human  improvement. 
Let  not  the  great  ordi^'iance  be  broken  down.  What  do  I  say  ? 
It  is  broken  down  ;  and  it  has  been  broken  down  for  ages.  Let 
it,  then,  be  built  again  ;  here,  if  any  where,  on  the  shores  of  a 
new  world — of  a  new  civilization. 

But  how,  it  may  be  asked,  is  it  broken  down  ?  Do  not  men 
toil  ?  it  may  be  said.  They  do,  indeed,  toil ;  but  they  too 
generally  do,  because  they  must.  Many  submit  to  it,  as  in  some 
sort  a  degrading  necessity ;  and  they  desire  nothing  so  much  on 
earth  as  an  escape  from  it.  This  way  of  thinking  is  the  heri- 
tage of  the  absurd  and  unjust  feudal  system,  under  which  serfs 
labored,  and  gentlemen  spent  their  lives  in  fighting  and  feasting. 
It  is  time  that  this  opprobrium  of  toil  were  done  away. 

Ashamed  to  toil !  Ashamed  of  thy  dingy  workshop  and 
dusty  la?'X)r-field  ;  of  thy  hard  hand,  scarred  with  service  more 
honorable  than  that  of  war ;  of  thy  soiled  and  weather-stained 
garments,  on  which  mother  Nature  has  embroidered  mist,  sun, 
and  rain,  fire  and  steam — her  own  heraldic  honors  !  Ashamed 
of  those  tokens  and  titles,  and  envious  of  the  flaunting  robes  of 
imbecile  idleness  and  vanity  !  It  is  treason  to  nature ;  it  is 
impiety  to  heaven  :  it  is  breaking  heaven's  great  ordinance. 
Toil — toil,  either  of  the  brain,  of  the  heart,  or  of  the  hand — 
is  the  only  true  manhood,  the  only  true  nobility  ! 

Dr.  0.  Dewey. 


158.      no  WARD,  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

It  is  not  in  the  field  of  patriotism  alone  that  deeds  have 
been  achieved,  to  which  history  has  awarded  the  palm  of  moral 
sublimity.  There  have  lived  men  in  whom  the  name  of  patriot 
has  been  merged  in  that  of  philanthropist ;  who,  looking  with 


188  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

an  eye  of  compassion  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  have  felt  foi 
the  miseries  of  our  race,  and  have  put  forth  their  calm  might  to 
wipe  off  one  blot  from  the  marred  and  stained  escutcheon  of 
human  nature,  to  strike  off  one  form  of  suffering  from  the  cata- 
logue of  human  woe.  Such  a  man  was  Howard.  Surveying 
our  world  like  a  spirit  of  the  blessed,  he  beheld  the  misery  of 
the  captive — he  heard  the  groaning  of  the  prisoner.  His  deter- 
mination was  fixed.  He  resolved,  single-handed,  to  gauge  and 
to  measure  one  form  of  unpitied,  unheeded  wretchedness,  and, 
bringing  it  out  to  the  sunshine  of  public  observation,  to  work 
its  utter  extermination.  And  he  well  knew  what  this  under- 
taking would  cost  him.  He  knew  what  he  had  to  hazard  from 
the  infection  of  dungeons,  to  endure  from  the  fatigues  of  inhos- 
pitable travel,  and  to  brook  from  the  insolence  of  legalized 
oppression.  He  knew  that  he  was  devoting  himself  to  the 
altar  of  philanthropy ;  and  he  willingly  devoted  himself.  He 
had  marked  out  his  destiny,  and  he  hasted  forward  to  its  accom- 
plishment, with  an  intensity  "jvhich  the  nature  of  the  human 
mind  forbade  to  be  more,  and  the  character  of  the  individual 
forbade  to  be  less."  Thus  he  commenced  a  new  era  in  the 
history  of  benevolence.  And  hence,  the  name  of  Howard  will 
be  associated  with  all  that  is  sublime  in  mercy,  until  the  final 
consummation  of  all  things.  jy^  -p  -^^yland. 


159.      THE  EMPTINESS  OF  HUMAN  GLORY. 

The  crumbling  tombstone  and  the  gorgeous  mausoleum,  the 
sculptured  marble  and  the  venerable  cathedral,  all  bear  witness 
to  the  instinctive  desire  within  us  to  be  remembered  by  coming 
generations.  But  how  short-lived  is  the  immortality  which  the 
works  of  our  hands  can  confer !  The  noblest  monuments  of  art 
that  the  world  has  ever  seen  are  covered  with  the  soil  of  twenty 
centuries.  The  works  of  the  age  of  Pericles  lie  at  the  foot  of 
the  Acropolis  in  indiscriminate  ruin.  The  ploughshare  turns 
up  the  marble  which  the  hand  of  Phidias  had  chiselled  into 
beauty ;  and  the  Mussulman  has  folded  his  flock  beneath  the 
falling  columns  of  the  temple  of  Minerva. 

Neither  sculptured  marble  nor  stately  column  can  reveal  to 
other  ages  the  lineaments  of  the  spirit ;  and  these  alone  can 
embalm  our  memory  in  the  hearts  of  a  grateful  posterity.  As 
the  stranger  stands  beneath  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  or  treads. 


DR.  F.  WAYLAND. — DE.  S.  II.  TYNG.  189 

with  religious  awe,  the  silent  aisles  of  Westminster  Abbey,  the 
sentiment  which  is  breathed  from  every  object  around  him  is, 
the  utter  emptiness  of  sublunary  glory.  The  fine  arts,  obedient 
to  private  affection  or  public  gratitude,  have  here  embodied,  in 
every  form,  the  finest  conceptions  of  which  their  age  was 
capable.  Each  one  of  these  monuments  has  been  watered  by 
the  tears  of  the  widow,  the  orphan,  or  the  patriot.  But  genera- 
tions have  passed  away,  and  mourners  and  mourned  have  sunk 
together  into  forgetfulness. 

It  is  by  what  we  ourselves  have  done,  and  not  by  what  others 
have  done  for  us,. that  we  shall  be  remembered  by  after  ages. 
It  is  by  thought  that  has  aroused  my  intellect  from  its  slum- 
bers, which  has  "  given  lustre  to  virtue,  and  dignity  to  truth," 
or  by  thosQ  examples  which  have  inflamed  my  soul  with  the  love 
of  goodness,  and  not  by  means  of  sculptured  marble,  that  I 
hold  communion  with  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  with  Johnson  and 
Burke,  with  Howard  and  Wilberforce.  -^^^  p  Wayland. 


160.      THE  MISSION  OF  THE  SAXON  RACE. 

The  power  given  to  the  two  nations  of  the  Saxon  race  is  a 
remarkable  fact  of  this  age.  The  keys  of  the  earth  have  been 
committed  to  their  charge.  The  printing-press,  the  steam- 
engine,  the  telegraph,  the  coal  beds,  and  even  the  mines  of  the 
earth,  have  been  thrown  into  their  hands.  To  a  great  extent, 
their  interest  and  work  on  the  earth  are  common.  Both  of 
them  combined  may  regenerate  the  globe.  Their  united  mis- 
sion is  to  elevate  its  whole  population  to  Gospel  light  and  truth ; 
to  rational  liberty  and  to  prosperous  trade.  And  all  this,  we 
may  reasonably  hope,  will  soon,  to  a  great  degree,  be  reali-zed. 
The  pressing  advances  in  the  course  of  invention,  discovery,  and 
settlement,  for  the  last  twenty-five  years,  allow  almost  any  ex- 
tent of  expectation,  and  make  no  calculations  for  the  future  ap- 
pear extravagant.  The  new  republics  forming  on  our  western 
coast  are  in  this  accumulation  of  wonders — ^the  most  important 
and  remarkable,  as  connected  with  these  anticipated  results. 
How  happy  was  the  name  given  to  that  ocean,  on  which,  prob- 
ably, the  great  and  final  achievements  of  this  moral  victory  are 
to  be  seen  !  Oh,  that  the  omen  may  be  permitted  to  abide  !  Let 
no  warfare  disturb  its  pacific  waters  !  Let  no  streams  of  human 
blood  mingle  with  its  translucent  depths  !     Carrying  still  west- 


190  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

ward  our  acquired  sympathy  for  suffering  man,  let  us  press  for- 
ward, everywhere,  to  elevate  and  save — nowhere  to  destroy. 
Let  the  attainments  of  the  generations  past  be  honored  and  ful- 
filled, by  the  generous  and  faithful  discharge  of  the  responsibili- 
ties accruing  upon  us  for  generations  to  come.  Thus,  in  main- 
taining and  spreading  the  glorious  Gospel  of  Christ,  in  connection 
with  every  instrument  of  national  extension  and  power,  shall  we 
be  serving  our  generation  according  to  the  will  of  God,  and  pre- 
paring a  highway  for  the  Saviour's  passage  in  triumph  through  a 
redeemed  and  rejoicing  world.  Thus  may  we  justly  come  and 
ofter  our  annual  thanksgiving  to  the  God  of  Qur  fathers.  Thus 
may  we  be  ourselves  laid  unto  our  fatliers  at  the  last,  in  joyful 
hope  for  the  welfare  of  our  land  when  our  own  work  of  life  is 
finished.  Thus  may  earth  have  reason  to  rejoice  over  the  dis- 
covery and  history  of  a  continent  and  a  nation,  whose  influence 
has  been  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  mankind. 

De.  S.  H.  TyNG. 


161.      POLITICAL  DEMAGOGUES. 

There  never  was  a  country  in  the  world,  from  the  days  of 
Pericles  to  the  present  time,  which  furnished  such  unbounded 
scope  for  the  demagogue  as  ours ;  and  never  was  a  country  sc 
cursed  with  demagogues.  The  demagogue  and  the  courtier  are 
but  opposite  poles  of  the  same  character.  The  demagogue  per- 
petually tells  the  people  that  they  are  sovereign — that  there  is 
no  higher  law  than  their  will.  Like  the  courtier,  he  flatters 
and  cajoles  the  sovereign,  in  order  to  mislead  and  rule  hira. 
What  chance  for  a  fair  hearing  has  the  honest  friend  of  the 
people  ?  It  certainly  cannot  be  said  to  be  unnatural  for  men 
to  confide  in  and  yield  themselves  to  the  guidance  of  those  who 
bow  to  their  will,  flatter  their  vanity,  or  minister  to  their  pas- 
sions. In  point  of  fact,  what  public  man  dares  resist  the  cur- 
rent of  party  opinion,  and  the  demands  of  party  discipline  ? 
What  truths  unpalatable  to  the  popular  taste,  however  vitally 
important  to  the  public  welfare,  do  the  politicians  of  either  party 
dare  to  tell  the  people  ?  What  popular  errors,  however  dan- 
gerous, do  they  dare  expose  and  denounce  ?  From  the  politi- 
cal and  party  presses,  controlled  by  demagogues,  the  people 
almost  never  hear  the  truth.  Morning,  noon,  and  night,  they 
are  fed  on  falsehoods,  and  nursed  in  prejudices,  hatreds,  and 
animosities.     All  considerations  of  truth,  decency,  and  rever- 


DK.  C.  S.  HENRY. DE.  W.  B.  SPEAGUE.  191 

'ence,  give  way  before  the  violence  of  party  spirit;  and  the 
Wind  and  bitter  spirit  of  party  is  continually  stimulated  by 
provocatives  addressed  to  the  ignorance,  the  prejudices,  and 
violent  passions  of  the  people  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all  their  pro- 
fessed homage,  love,  and  respect  for  the  people,  the  demagogues 
show  clearly  enough  to  the  discerning  eye  in  what  real  con- 
tempt they  hold  the  knowledge,  the  wisdom,  and  the  virtue  of 
the  people,  by  the  boundless  impudence  of  the  lies,  flatteries, 
and  quackeries  with  which  they  seek  to  cajole  and  lead  them. 

And  which  way  tends  the  political  destiny  of  the  nation  un- 
der these  influences  of  the  party  presses  and  of  political  dema- 
gogues ?  It  tends  to  throw  the  absolute  power  of  the  nation 
into  whatever  party  of  demagogues,  calling  themselves  friends 
of  the  pe9ple,  can  most  successfully  cajole  and  corrupt  the  peo- 
ple. It  tends,  in  short,  to  a  democratic  absolutism — the  worst 
of  all  forms  of  absolutism,  the  most  pervading  and  the  least 
conscientious.  Any  party,  supported  by  a  popular  majority, 
can  at  any  time  overbear  the  constitution,  and  absorb  into  itself 
all  the  powers  of  the  state.  Dr  C  S  Henry 


162.      THE  PACIFIC  AGE. 

The  history  of  man's  intellect  down  to  the  present  hour  is, 
with  comparatively  few  exceptions,  the  history  of  deep  darkness, 
of  withering  bondage,  of  noble  aspirations  stifled,  of  great  and 
immortal  faculties  yielding  nothing.  I  ask,  wherefore  has  been 
this  criminal  perversion  of  God's  noblest  gifts  ?  Wherefore  has 
learning  witnessed  to  so  many  ages  of  imprisonment,  and,  even 
in  her  best  days,  exercised  so  contracted  a  dominion  ?  The  an- 
swer is,  she  has  had  her  lot  in  a  world  of  enemies, — the  chief  of 
which  is  war.  But  we  think  we  see  signs  of  no  equivocal  im- 
port that  war  is  soon  to  die  ;  and  we  trust  that  her  other  foes 
will  also  be  slain  and  buried  in  the  same  grave.  The  pacific  age 
stretches  into  the  far-distant  future.  I  see  it  embosomed  in 
millennial  glory.  I  hear  it  celebrated  in  millennial  anthems.  I 
inquire  for  man's  intellect,  and  behold  it  is  quite  another  thing 
than  what  I  have  been  accustomed  to  contemplate  :  he  has  be- 
come so  great  that,  if  he  were  to  meet  an  angel,  it  would 
scarcely  seem  arrogant  that  he  should  call  him  brother.  I  see 
the  means  of  knowledge  multipHed  a  hundred-fold  and  extended 
everywhere :  I  see  great  and  venerable  institutions  of  learning 


192  SELECTIONS  IN  PROSE. 

planted  on  the  ruins  of  superstition  and  barbarism :  I  see  the ' 
world  peopled  with  cultivated  minds  :.  I  see  truth  and  virtue 
reigning  over  all.  Hail,  thou  pacific  age  !  Come  and  renovate 
man's  intellect,  as  well  as  his  heart !  Be  it  so  that  it  is  our 
privilege  to  witness  only  thy  auspicious  dawn — yet  we  believe 
that  our  children  and  children's  children  shall  rejoice  in  thy 
noonday  splendors  !  ^^^  ^^  ^^  S^^^^^^^ 


163.      LANGUAGE. 

/  What  is  worthy  to  form  a  part  of  hberal  study,  if  not  lan- 
guage, and  what  is  worthy  of  being  studied  more  thoroughly  ? 
it  puts  us  in  intercourse  with  other  men,  and  forms  a  society 
among  the  intelligences  of  the  earth.  The  senses  give  us  com- 
merce with  the  physical  world ;  but  without  language  we  should 
know  little  or  nothing  of  other  minds.  |  So  too  in  its  written 
form,  it  gives  us  intercourse  with  the  great  men  of  all  times  and 
all  ages,  who  have  left  their  thoughts  on  record.  We  gather 
their  works  in  our  libraries,  and  when  we  please,  we  may  enjoy 
their  society,  ourselves  the  host  and  master  of  ceremonies,  and 
regulating  our  intercourse  with  them  in  our  own  way.  Time 
and  distance  are  no  obstacles,  for  through  language  and  the 
press  they  have  gained  ubiquity.  Their  books  are  better  to  us 
in  their  living  intercourse,  for  these  have  patience  with  our  dul- 
ness  and  our  blunders  ;  they  bear  with  our  doubts  and  our  de- 
nials ;  they  allow  us  our  own  time,  and  find  no  fault  if  we  pre- 
fer the  wisdom  of  others,  or  even  our  own,  to  theirs.  When  I 
look  upon  a  library,  I  think  I  see  the  grandest  achievement  of 
the  human  mind.  It  is  little  to  heap  up  the  stones  of  a  pyra- 
mid, or  to  bind  together  the  remotest  ends  of  a  wide  territory, 
and  to  annihilate  time  and  space  by  a  railroad ;  here  we  have 
piled  together  the  thoughts  of  men,  the  best  labors  of  immortal 
intellects ;  we  have,  gathered  into  one  mass,  the  wisdom  of  the 
wisest  of  all  times  and  all  countries ;  we  multiply  it,  and  place 
within  the  reach  and  hearing  of  all,  ever  living  and  ever  speak- 
ing, those  whom  God  has  given,  in  the  long  course  of  time,  to 
all  nations,  to  be  their  teachers  in  knowledge  and  understanding. 

Da.  Benjamin  Hale. 


DK.  BENJAMIN  HALE. II.  W.  BEECHER.  193 


164.      THE  BIBLE  FRIENDLY  TO  LIBERT? 

The  language  of  the  Bible  is  a  hearty  masculine  English,  as 
pure  a  standard  of  our  mother  tongue  as  we  have.  Its  history- 
is  that  by  .which  all  ancient  history  has  been  obliged  to  correct 
itself;  and  its  poetry  unsurpassed.  It  is  full  of  the  purest 
ethics  and  the  noblest  philosophy.  It  gives  the  truest  view  of 
human  nature,  and  reveals  the  only  method  for  its  radical  im- 
provement. 

Is  it  not  the  friend  of  civil  liberty  ?  Certainly,  if  beyond  all 
other  means  it  is  powerful  to  make  man  a  law  to  himself,  it  is 
beyond  every  thing  else  favorable  to  liberty.  The  Bible  has 
never  yet  shown  itself  a  foe  to  the  liberties  or  the  prosperity  and 
happiness  of  states.  It  is  true,  the  world  has  sometimes  been 
agitated  by  the  attempt  of  some  of  its  friends  to  impose  their 
views  of  its  revelations  upon  others,  but  the  evil  is  most  surely 
corrected,  by  permitting  it  freely  and  at  all  times  to  speak  for 
itself. 

,  All  the  most  valuable  elements  of  modern  civilization  have 
developed  themselves  under  the  fostering  influence  of  Christiani- 
ty ;  and,  if  I  may  judge  from  my  own  consciousness,  or  from 
the  records  of  history,  nothing  has  contributed,  and  nothing  can 
contribute  so  effectually  to  make  men  feel  the  true  dignity  of 
their  natui'e,  and  raise  them  to  a  true  independence  of  spirit,  as 
to  regard  themselves  in  the  hght  of  that  immortality  which  has 
been  made  known  to  us  by  the  Gospel.  Whose  sufferings  in 
the  cause  of  human  hberty  have  equalled  those  of  the  Christian 
martyrs  of  all  times  ?  And  in  Christian  countries,  who  is  most 
likely  to  set  his  opinion  to  sale,  and  truckle  to  the  times,  he  who 
is  daily  conscious  of  the  undying  spirit  within  him,  or  he  who 
has  lost  sight  of  himself  as  an  immortal' being  ? 

Dr.  Benjamin  Hale, 


165.      THE  POLITICAL  KNAVE. 

The  lowest  of  pohticians  is  that  man  who  seeks  to  gratify  aii 
invariable  selfishness  by  pretending  to  seek  the  public  good. 
For  a  profitable  popularity,  he  accommodates  himself  to  all  opin- 
ions, to  all  dispositions,  to  every  side,  and  to  each  prejudice. 
He  is  a  mirror,  with  no  face  of  its  own,  but  a  smooth  surface 
from  which  eaoh  man  of  ten  thousand  may  see  himself  reflected. 

9 


194  SELECTIONS  IN  PBOSE. 

He  glides  from  man  to  man,  coinciding  witli  their  views,  pre- 
tending their  feelings,  simulating  their  tastes :  with  this  one,  he 
hates  a  man ;  with  that  one,  he  loves  the  same  man :  he  favors 
a  law,  and  he  dislikes  it ;  he  approves,  and  opposes ;  he  is  on 
both  sides  at  once,  and  seemingly  wishes  that  he  could  be  on 
one  side  more  than  both  sides. 

As  a  man,  he  means  to  be  veracious,  honest,  moral ;  as  a  pol- 
itician, he  is  deceitful,  cunning,  unscrupulous, — any  thing  for 
party.  As  a  man,  he  abhors  the  slimy  demagogue  ;  as  a  poli- 
tician, he  employs  him  as  a  scavenger.  As  a  man,  he  shrinks 
from  the  flagitiousness  of  slander  ;  as  a  politician,  he  permits  it, 
smiles  upon  it  in  others,  rejoices  in  the  success  gained  by  it.  As 
a  man,  he  respects  no  one  who  is  rotten  in  heart ;  as  a  politi- 
cian, no  man  through  whom  victory  may  be  gained  can  be  too 
bad. 

For  his  religion  he  will  give  up  all  his  secular  interests  ;  but 
for  his  politics  he  gives  up  even  his  religion.  He  adores 
virtue,  and  rewards  vice.  Whilst  bolstering  up  unrighteous 
measures,  and  more  unrighteous  men,  he  prays  for  the  advance- 
ment of  religion,  and  justice,  and  honor  }  I  would  to  God  that 
his  prayer  might  be  answered  upon  his  own  political  head ;  for 
never  was  there  a  place  where  such  blessings  were  more  needed  ! 
What  a  heart  has  that  man,  who  can  stand  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  Bible,  with  its  transcendent  truths  raising  their  glowing 
fronts  on  every  side  of  him,  and  feel  no  inspiration  but  that  of 
immorahty  and  meanness ! 

If  the  love  of  country,  a  sense  of  character,  a  manly  regard 
for  integrity,  the  examples  of  our  most  illustrious  men,  the 
warnings  of  religion  and  all  its  solicitations,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  future,  cannot  inspire  a  man  to  any  thing  higher  than  a 
sneaking,  truckling,  dodging  scramble  for  fraudulent  fame  and 
dishonest  bread,  it  is  because  such  a  creature  has  never  felt  one 
sensation  of  manly  virtue ;  it  is  because  his  heart  is  a  howling 
wilderness,  inhospitable  to  innocence.  -^  -^  Beeoheu. 


166.      ADDRESS  TO  A  MISSIONARY. 

Brother  !  listen  to  what  we  say.  There  was  a  time  when 
our  forefathers  owned  this  great  island.  Their  seats  extended 
from  the  rising  to  tlie  setting  sun ;  the  Great  Spirit  had  made  it 
for  the  use  of  the  Indians.     He  had  created  the  buffalo,  the 


EED  JACKET.  195 

deer,  and  other  animals  for  food.  He  had  made  the  bear  and 
the  beaver;  their  skins  served  us  for  clothing.  He  had  scat- 
tered them  over  the  country,  and  taught  us  how  to  take  them. 
He  had  caused  the  earth  to  produce  corn  for  bread.  All  this 
he  had  done  for  his  red  children,  because  he  loved  them.  If  we 
had  disputes  about  our  hunting-ground,  they  were  generally 
settled  Avithout  the  shedding  of  much  blood.  But  an  evil  day 
came  upon  us ;  your  forefathers  crossed  the  great  waters  and 
landed  on  this  island.  Their  numbers  were  small ;  they  found 
us  friends,  and  not  enemies.  They  told  us  they  had  fled  from 
their  own  country  through  fear  of  wicked  men,  and  had  come 
here  to  enjoy  their  religion.  They  asked  for  a  small  seat;  we 
took  pity  on  them,  and  granted  their  request;  and  they  sat 
down  a^ong  us.  We  gave  them  corn  and  meat ;  and,  in  return, 
they  gave  us  poison.  The  white  people  now  having  found  our 
country,  tidings  were  sent  back,  and  more  came  amongst  us  ; 
yet  we  did  not  fear  them.  We  took  them  to  be  friends :  they 
called  us  brothers ;  we  beheved  them,  and  gave  them  a  larger 
seat.  At  length  their  number  so  increased,  that  they  wanted 
more  land :  they  wanted  our  country.  Our  eyes  were  opened, 
and  we  became  uneasy.  Wars  took  place ;  Indians  were  hired 
to  fight  against  Indians ;  and  many  of  our  people  were,  destroyed. 

Brother !  Once  our  seats  were  large,  and  yours  were  small. 
You  have  now  become  a  great  people,  and  we  have  scarcely  a 
place  left  to  spread  our  blankets.  .  You  have  got  our  country, 
but,  not  satisfied,  you  want  to  force  your  religion  upon  us. 

Brother !  continue  to  listen.  You  say  you  are  sent  to  in- 
struct us  how  to  vrorship  the  Great  Spirit  agreeably  to  his  mind, 
and  that  if  we  do  not  take  hold  of  the  religion  which  you  teach, 
we  shall  be  unhappy  hereafter.  How  do  we  know  this  to  be 
true  ?  We  understand  that  your  religion  is  written  in  a  book. 
If  it  was  intended  for  us  as  well  as  you,  why  has  not  the  Great 
Spirit  given  it  to  us ;  and  not  only  to  us,  but  why  did  he  not 
give  to  our  forefathers  the  knowledge  of  that  book,  with  the 
means  of  rightly  understanding  it  ?  We  only  know  what  fon 
tell  us  about  it,  and  having  been  so  often  deceived  by  the  white 
people,  how  shall  we  believe  what  they  say  ? 

Red  Jacket. 


196  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 


'       167.      ADDRESS  TO  GEN.  STREET. 

You  have  taken  me  prisoner,  with  all  my  warriors.  I  am 
much  grieved,  for  I  expected,  if  I  did  not  defeat  you,  to  hold 
out  much  longer,  and  give  you  more  trouble  before  I  surren- 
dered. I  tried  hard  to  bring  you  into  ambush,  but  your  last 
general  understands  Indian  fighting.  I  determined  to  rush  on 
you,  and  fight  you  face  to  face.  I  fought  hard.  But  your  guns 
were  well  aimed.  The  bullets  flew  like  birds  in  the  air,  and 
whizzed  by  our  ears  like  the  wind  through  the  trees  in  winter. 
My  warriors  fell  around  me  ;  it  began  to  look  dismal :  I  saw  my 
evil  day  at  hand.  The  sun  rose  dim  on  us  in  the  morning,  and 
at  night  it  sank  in  a  dark  cloud,  and  looked  like  a  ball  of  fire. 
That  was  the  last  sun  that  shone  on  Black  Hawk.  His  heart 
is  dead,  and  no  longer  beats  quick  in  his  bosom.  He  is  now  a 
prisoner  to  the  white  men.  They  will  do  with  him  as  they 
wish.  But  he  can  stand  torture,  and  is  not  afraid  of  death.  He 
is  no  coward.     Black  Hawk  is  an  Indian. 

He  has  done  nothing  for  which  an  Indian  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  He  has  fought  for  his  countrymen,  the  squaws  and 
pappooses,  against  white  men,  who  came,  year  after  year,  to 
cheat  them  and  take  away  their  lands.  You  know  the  cause  of 
our  making  war.  It  is  known  to  all  white  men.  They  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  it.  The  white  men  despise  the  Indians,  and 
drive  them  from  their  homes.  They  smile  in  the  face  of  the 
poor  Indians  to  cheat  them.  They  shake  them  by  the  hand  to 
gain  their  confidence,  to  make  them  drunk,  and  to  deceive  them. 
We  told  them  to  let  us  alone,  and  keep  away  from  us  ;  but 
they  followed  on,  and  beset  our  paths,  and  they  coiled  them- 
selves among  us,  like  the  snake.  They  poisoned  us  by  their 
touch.  We  were  not  safe.  We  lived  in  danger.  We  looked 
up  to  the  Great  Spirit,  We  went  to  our  father.  We  were 
encouraged  His  great  council  gave  us  fair  words  and  big 
promises ;  but  we  got  no  satisfaction :  things  were  growing 
worse.  There  were  no  deer  in  the  forest.  The  opossum  and 
beaver  were  fled.  The  springs  were  drying  up,  and  our  squaws 
and  pappooses  without  victuals  to  keep  them  from  starving. 

We  called  a  great  council,  and  built  a  large  fire.  The  spirit 
of  our  fathers  arose  and  spoke  to  us  to  avenge  our  wrongs  or 
die.  We  set  up  the  war-whoop,  and  dug  up  the  tomahawk ; 
our  knives  were  ready,  and  the  heart  of  Black  Hawk  swelled 
high  in  his  bosom  when  he  led  his  warriors  to  battle.  He  is 
■satisfied.     He  will  go  to  the  world  of  spirits  contented.     He 


BLACK  HAWK. ^EDMUND  BURKE.  197 

has  done  his  duty.     His  father  will  meet  him  there,  and  com- 
mend him. 

Farewell,  my  nation !  Black  Hawk  tried  to  save  you,  and 
avenge  your  wrongs.  He  drank  the  blood  of  some  of  the 
whites.  He  has  been  taken  prisoner,  and  his  plans  are  stopped. 
He  can  do  no  more.  He  is  near  his  end.  His  sun  is  setting, 
and  he  will  rise  no  more.     Farewell  to  Black  Hawk  ! 

Black  Hawk. 


168.      CONCILIATION  WITH  THE  COLONIES. 

The  proposition  is  peace.  Not  peace,  through  the  medium 
of  war ;  not  peace,  to  be  hunted  through  the  labyrinth  of  in- 
tricate and  endless  negotiations ;  not  peace,  to  arise  out  of 
universal  discord,  fomented  from  principle,  in  all  parts  of  the 
empire  ;  not  peace,  to  depend  on  the  juridical  determination  of 
perplexing  questions,  or  the  precise  marking  the  shadowy 
boundaries  of  a  complex  government :  it  is  simple  peace ; 
sought  in  its  natural  course,  and  in  its  ordinary  haunts.  It  is 
peace,  sought  in  the  spirit  of  peace  ;  and  laid  in  principles 
purely  pacific.  I  propose, — by  removing  the  ground  of  the 
difference,  and  by  restoring  the  former  unsuspecting  confidence 
of  the  colonies  in  the  mother  country, — to  give  permanent 
satisfaction  to  your  people  ;  and  (far  from  a  scheme  of  ruling  by 
discord)  to  reconcile  them  to  each  other  in  the  same  act,  and  by 
the  bond  of  the  very  same  interest,  which  reconciles  them  to 
British  government. 

I  mean  to  give  peace.  Peace  implies  reconciliation  ;  and, 
where  there  has  been  a  material  dispute,  reconciliation  does,  in 
a  manner,  imply  concession  on  the  one  part  or  the  oth^r.  In 
this  state  of  things,  I  make  no  difficulty  in  affirming  that  the 
proposal  ought  to  originate  from  us.  Great,  and  acknowledged 
force  is  not  impfflrea,  either  in  eflfect  or  in  opinion,  by  an  unwil- 
lingness to  exert  itself.  The  superior  power  may  offer  peace 
with  honor  and  safety.  Such  an  offer  from  such  a  power  will 
be  attributed  to  magnanimity.  But,  the  concessions  of  the 
weak  are  the  concessions  of  fear.  When  such  a  one  is  disarmed, 
he  is  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  his  superior ;  and  he  loses  forever 
that  time  and  those  chances  which,  as  they  happen  to  all  men, 
are  the  strength  and  resources  of  all  inferior  power. 

All  this,  I  know  well  enough,  will  sound  wild  and  chimerical 
lo  the  profane  herd  of  those  vulgar  and  mechanical  politicians 


198  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

who  have  no  place  among  us.  But,  to  men  truly  initiated  and 
rightly  taught,  these  ruling  principles  are,  in  truth,  every  thing. 
Magnanimity  in  politics  is,  not  seldom,  the  truest  wisdom  ;  and  a 
great  empire  and  little  minds  go  ill  together.  We  ought  tc 
elevate  our  minds  to  the  greatness  of  that  trust  to  which  the 
order  of  providence  has  called  us.  By  adverting  to  the  dignity 
of  this  high  calling,  our  ancestors  have  turned  a  savage  wilder- 
ness into  a  glorious  empire,  and  have  made  the  most  extensive, 
and  the  only  honorable,  conquests,  not  by  destroying,  but  by 
promoting  the  wealth,  the  number,  ihe  happiness  of  the  human 

**^^®'  "  Edmund  Bukke. 


169.      REFORM  IN  PARLIAMENT.  « 

Is  it,  in  the  eye  of  such  a  reformer  as  my  noble  friend,  no 
abuse,  that  the  most  populous,  the  most  opulent,  the  most 
enterprising,  and  the  most  intelligent  cities  in  this  empire  should 
be  wholly  unrepresented,  whilst  the  moldering  mounds  of  Old 
Sarum,  and  the  barren  walls  of  Midhurst,  each  send  two  mem- 
bers to  parliament  ?  "  Oh  !  but,  then,"  says  he,  "  if  your  plan 
had  been  confined  to  that,  Birmingham  and  Manchester  might 
have  been  permitted  to  return  members  to  the  house  of  com- 
mons." Be  it  so.  But,  then,  is  it  no  abuse  in  the  eyes  of  my 
noble  friend,  that  the  power  of  giving  laws  to  a  great  empire, 
with  millions  of  subjects  at  home,  and  tens  of  millions  of  sub- 
jects abroad — the  power  of  giving  laws  to  this  great  and  intel- 
ligent country,  and  of  all  but  giving  laws,  through  this  country, 
to  all  the  world  besides — is  it  no  abuse,  I  say,  that  the  power 
of  making  such  laws,  should  be  vested,  as  property,  in  private 
individuals  ?  Is  it  no  abuse  in  his  eyes  that  the  power  should 
be  given,  not  by  the  choice  of  the  people,  but  according  to  the 
caprice,  inclination,  or  good-will  of  a  peer  or  other  powerful 
patron  ?  Is  it  no  abuse,  that  this  power  should  be  let  out  for 
a  term  of  years,  like  a  stall  or  a  stable  ?  Is  it  no  abuse  that 
it  should  be  so  openly  treated  as  an  article  of  traffic,  that, 
when  a  question  arose  respecting  prompt  payment,  the  payment 
or  discount  for  three,  six,  or  nine-tenths  was  made,  not  in  money, 
but  in  returning  a  member  to  serve  in  this  present  parliament 
now  assembled  ?  I  speak,  my  lords,  from  my  own  knowledge. 
What !  is  this  no  abuse  ?  Is  the  buying  and  selling  of  seats  in 
the  British   house  of   parhament  so  common  and  ordinary  a 


BROUGHAM.  199 

transaction,  that  it  fails  to  excite  alarm  or  indignation  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  are  made  acquainted  with  such  disgraceful 
transactions  ?  Is  it  no  abuse  that  the  buying  and  selling  of 
seats  should  be  as  common  as  bargains  and  sales  that  are  every- 
day made — as  common  as  the  buying  and  selling  of  cattle  in 
the  stalls  of  Smithfield  market?  That  these  things  should  be 
no  abuse — that  these  practices,  which  the  highest  authority  of 
the  commons  house  of  parliament  declared  from  the  chair  of 
that  house,  would  have  made  our  ancestors  startle  with  indig- 
nation— that  these  practices,  I  say,  are  to  be  called  no  abuse, 
is  one -of  the  most  extraordinary  and  barefaced  assertions  that  I 
have  ever  heard  uttered  by  man.  BRoucnAM 


IVO.      REFORM  IN  THE  ELECTIONS. 

My  lords,  I  am  stating  one  or  two  of  the  prominent  evils  of 
the  system,  but,  I  leave  out  all  mention  of  the  bribery  and  cor- 
ruption that  contaminate  and  degrade  the  elections  of  all 
boroughs.  From  whence  do  they  arise  ? — from  whence,  but 
from  what  are  called  the  sacred  rights  of  corporations — that  is 
to  say,  not  the  rights  of  the  corporations,  but  the  rights  of  the 
freemen  of  the  towns  corporate.  They  are  the  usurpers  of  the 
ancient  rights  of  the  people ;  they  are  the  select  bodies  which 
were  totally  unknown  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  constitution ; 
they  are  the  individuals  to  whom  that  constitution,  originally, 
never  intended  to  insure  the  right  of  voting  ;  and  they  are  the 
persons  r-ho,  ninety-nine  times  out  of  a  hundred,  all  over  Eng- 
land, have,  by  usurpation,  acquired  to  themselves  the  privilege 
of  an  exclusive  monopoly  in  the  choice  of  the  representatives  of 
the  people.  In  my  mind,  it  is  no  small  recommendation  of  the 
measure  which  has  been  introduced,  that  it  will,  in  future, 
abolish  such  abuses  and  anomalies. 

My  lords,  I  have  yet  to  learK  that  a  measure  recommended 
upon  principle,  consistent  in  its  form,  and,  certainly,  proceeding 
upon  an  anxious  wish  to  restore,  and  not  to  destroy,  to  improve, 
and  not  to  impair,  is  to  be  at  once  cried  down  and  abandoned, 
because  it  happens  to  enjoy  this  additional  quality — I  will  not 
call  it  a  recommendation — that  it  is  honestly  and  sincerely 
greeted  with  approbation  by  a  large  body  of  his  majesty's 
Bubjects. 

My  lords,  I  do  not  call  upon   you  to  adopt  this  measure 


200  SELECTIONS  IN  FJBOSE. 

because  it  happens  to  be  consistent  with  popular  feelings.  I  do 
not  call  upon  you  to  adopt  it  upon  that  account ;  but  I  am 
persuaded  that  if  this  measure  be  rejected,  you  will  bring  the 
security  of  the  country — the  peace  of  his  majesty — the  stability 
of  our  ancient  constitution — and  the  whole  frame  of  society, 
from  Cornwall  to  Sutherland,  Ireland  as  well  as  England,  into 
a  state  of  jeopardy,  which  I  earnestly  pray  to  heaven  ma} 
never  come  to ^ pass. 

iMy  lords,  I  do  not  wish  to  use  the  language  of  threats,  but 
I  recollect,  and  history  has  recorded  the  fact,  that  when  the 
great  Earl  of  Chatham  was  addressing  our  most  severe  ances- 
tors within  these  walls — when  he  was  shaking  them  with  his 
magnificent  oratory — he  suffered  the  lightning  of  his  eloquence 
to  smite  the  enemies  of  reform,  by  menacing  them  with  the 
dangers  that  must  attend  an  attempt  to  withhold  from  the 
people  their  just  rights ;  and  I  well  remember  that  that  was 
deemed  no  insult  by  those  who  heard  him,  but  was  considered 
honorable,  highly  honorable  to  him  who  had  the  boldness  to 
utter  that  denunciationJ  For  my  own  part,  all  that  I  will  ven- 
ture to  do  in  this  latter  day  of  eloquence  and  of  talent,  standing 
in  the  honorable  situation  which  I  do  in  this  house  and  in  the 
eountry,  is,  to  call  upon  your  lordships  to  reflect  and  believe, 
that  the  thunders  of  heaven  are  sometimes  heard  tc^  roll  in  the 
voice  of  a  united  people.  Beougham. 


171.      SYMPATHY  FOR  MAN  AROUND  THE  THRONE  OF  GOD. 

When  one  of  a  numerous  household  droops  under  the  power 
of  disease,  is  not  that  the  one  to  whom  all  the  tenderness  is 
turned,  and  who,  in  a  manner,  monopolizes  the  inquiries  of  his 
neighborhood,  and  the  care  of  his  family  ?  When  the  sighing 
of  the  midnight  storm  sends  a  dismal  foreboding  into  the 
mother's  heart ;  to  whom,  of  all  her  offspring,  I  would  ask,  are 
her  thoughts  and  her  anxieties  then  wandering  ?  Is  it  not  to 
her  sailor-boy  whom  her  fancy  has  placed  amid  the  rude  and 
angry  surges  of  the  ocean  ?  We  sometimes  liear  of  shipwrecked 
passengers  thrown  upon  a  barbarous  shore,  and  seized  upon  by 
its  prowling  inhabitants,  and  hun-ied  away  through  the  tracks 
of  a  dreary  and  unknown  wilderness,  and  sold  into  captivity. 
Oh !  tell  me,  when  the  fame  of  all  this  disaster  reaches  his 
family,  who  is  the  member  of  it  to  whom  is  directed  the  full 


DK.  CIIALMEKS. DK.  PHILPOrrS.  201 

tide  of  its  griefs  and  of  its  sympathies  ?  Who  is  it,  that  for 
weeks,  and  for  months,  usurps  every  feehng,  and  calls  out  their 
largest  sacrifices,  and  sets  them  to  the  busiest  expedients  for 
getting  him  back  again  ?  Who  is  it  that  makes  them  forgetful 
of  themselves,  and  of  all  around  th,em  ?  and  tell  me,  if  you  can 
assign  a  limit  to  the  pains,  and  the  exertions,  and  the  surrenders 
which  afflicted  parents  and  weeping  sisters  would  make  to  seek 
and  to  save  him  ? 

Now  conceive  the  principle  of  all  these  earthly  exhibitions  to 
be  in  full  operation  around  the  throne  of  God.  Conceive  the 
universe  to  be  one  secure  and  rejoicing  family,  and  that  this 
alienated  world  is  the  only  strayed,  or  only  captive  member  be- 
longing to  it,  and  we  shall  cease  to  wonder  that  from  the  first 
period  of  the  captivity  of  our  species,  down  to  the  consumma- 
tion of  their  history  in  time,  there  should  be  such  a  movement 
in  heaven  ;  or,  that  angels  should  so  often  have  sped  their  com- 
missioned way,  on  the  errand  of  our  recovery ;  or,  that  the  Son 
of  God  should  have  bowed  himself  down  to  the  burden  of  our 
mysterious  atonement ;  or,  that  the  Spirit  of  God  should  now, 
,  by  the  busy  variety  of  his  all-powerful  influences,  be  carrying 
forward  that  dispensation  of  grace,  which  is  to  make  us  meet 
for  readmittance  into  the  mansions  of  the  celestial. 

Db.  Chalmers. 


1*72.      THE  BRITISH  CONSTITUTION. 

My  lords,  it  is  with  no  ordinary  feeling  that  I  find  myself 
speaking  upon  this  subject,  in  this,  the  most  august  assembly  in 
the  world — ay,  I  repeat  it,  in  this,  the  most  august  assembly  in 
the  world.  Such  this  house  for  centuries  has  been — such  it  still 
is — such,  let  us  hope,  it  may  long  continue  to  be.  God  grant 
it  may,  for  if  it  should  ever  cease  to  be  the  most  august  assem- 
bly in  the  world,  it  will  become  the  most  degraded.  And  why, 
my  lords,  will  this  be  ?  because  if  this  house  shall  fall  from  its 
proud  eminence,  it  will  not  fall  by  violence  from  without ;  for, 
notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  or  done,  the  people  of 
this  country  will  never  be  so  false  to  their  own  interests,  as  to 
be  wanting  in  respectful  attachment  to  you,  if  you  are  not  want- 
ing to  yourselves  and  them.  It  will  fall  by  the  folly  or  the  guilt, 
by  the  cowardice  or  the  treachery  of  some,  if  there  shall  be  any 
such,  of  its  own  degenerate  members. 

My  lords,  it  has  been  ordained  by  a  severe,  but  most  merci- 
9* 


202  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

ful  dispensation,  that  those  to  whom  great  interests  are  intrusted, 
cannot  be  false  to  those  interests,  without  drawing  down  a  full 
measure  of  righteous  retribution  on  their  own  heads.  My  lords, 
to  you  the  guardianship  of  the  British  constitution — that  con- 
stitution which  for  at  least  eight  hundred  hears,  has  fostered, 
nursed,  matured,  and  consolidated  the  liberties  and  the  happi- 
ness of  this  much-favored  people ;  to  you  the  guardianship  of 
that  constitution  has  been  mainly  consigned  :  to  your  fidelity,  to 
your  prudence,  to  your  firmness.  My  lords,  if  it  fall,  you  will 
not  only  fall  with  it,  but  you  will  be  ground  to  dust  beneath  its 
ruins.  May  He  who  has  appointed  you  to  your  high  place, 
enable  you  to  fill  it  as  you  ought !  In  this  great  crisis,  for  so 
we  all  feel  it  to  be,  in  this  agony  of  our  country's  fate,  may  He 
give  you  wisdom  to  see,  and  fortitude  to  pursue  steadily  and 
fearlessly  that  only  path,  which  can  lead  to  honor  or  to  safety — 
the  path  of  duty.  True,  my  lords,  that  path  is  beset  with 
difficulties  and 'with  dangers  ;  clouds  and  thickest  darkness  rest 
upon  it ;  but  one  thing  is  clear,  is  bright,  and  one  thing  only, — 
to  walk  uprightly  is  within  your  own  power.  As.  for  conse- 
quences, they  are  in  the  power  of  God.  Will  you  distrust  that 
power  ?     My  lords,  you  will  not.  p^^  PuiLrorrs. 


173.     AUTUMN. 


t'P  is  the  unvarying  character  of  nature,  amid  all  its  scenes,  to 
lead  us,  at  last,  to  its  Author ;  and  it  is  for  this  final  end  that 
all  lis  varieties  have  such  dominion  over  our  minds.  We  are  led, 
by  tne  appearance  of  spring,  to  see  his  bounty ;  we  are  led,  by 
the  splendors  of  summer,  to  see  his  greatness.  In  the  season 
of  aurumn  we  are  led  to  a  higher  sentiment ;  and,  what  is  most 
remarkable,  the  very  circumstances  of  melancholy  are  those 
which  guide  us  most  securely  to  put  our  trust  in  him.  We  are 
witnessing  the  decay  of  the  year ;  we  go  back  in  imagination, 
and  find  that  such,  in  every  generation,  has  been  the  fate  of  man. 
We  look  forward,  and  we  see  that  to  such  ends  all  must  come 
at  last ;  we  lift  our  desponding  eyes  in  search  of  comfort,  and 
we'  see  above  us  One  who  "  is  ever  the  same,  and  to  whose  years 
there  is  no  end."  Amid  the  vicissitudes  of  nature,  we  discover 
that  central  Majesty,  **  in  whom  there  is  no  variableness  nor 
shadow  of  turning."  We  feel  that  there  is  a  God ;  and,  from 
the  tempestuous  sea  of  life,  we  hail  that  polar  star  of  nature, 


ALISON. — ST.  PAUL.  203 

to  which  a  sacred  instinct  had  directed  our  eyes,  and  which 
burns,  with  undecaying  ray,  to  hghten  us  among  all  the  dark- 
ness of  the  deep. 

Let  the  busy  and  active  go  out,  and  pause,  for  a  time,  amid 
the  scenes  which  surround  them,  and  learn  the  high  lesson 
which  nature  teaches  in  the  hours  of  its  fall.  They  are  now- 
ardent  with  all  the  desires  of  mortahty ;  and  fame,  and  interest, 
and  pleasure  are  displaying  to  them  their  shadowy  promises. 
Let  them  withdraw  themselves,  for  a  time,  from  the  agitations 
of  the  world ;  let  them  mark  the  desolation  of  summer,  and 
listen  to  the  winds  of  winter,  which  begin  to  murmur  above  their 
heads.  It  is  a  scene  which,  with  all  its  powers,  has  yet  no  re- 
proach :  it  tells  them  that  such  is  also  the  fate  to  which  they 
must  come  ;  that  the  pulse  of  passion  must  one  day  beat  low  ; 
that  the  illusions  of  time  must  pass  ;  and  "  that  the  spirit  must 
return  to  Him  who  gave  it."  Alison. 


114:.      CHARITY. 


Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men,  and  of  angels,  and 
have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  sounding  brass,  or  a  tinkling 
cymbal.  And  though  I  have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  under- 
stand all  mysteries,  and  all  knowledge ;  and  though  I  have  all 
faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  I 
am  nothing. 

And  though  I  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and 
though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have  not  charity,  it 
profiteth  me  nothing.  Charity  suflfereth  long,  and  is  kind ; 
charity  envieth  not ;  charity  vaunteth  not  itself ;  it  is  not  puffed 
up  ;  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly  ;  seeketh  not  her  own  ;  is 
not  easily  provoked  ;  thinketh  no  evil ;  rejoiceth  not  in  miquity, 
but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth ;  beareth  all  things,  believeth  all 
things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things. 

Charity  never  faileth  :  but  whether  there  be  prophecies,  they 
shall  fail ;  whether  there  be  tongues,  they  shall  cease  ;  whether 
there  be  knowledge,  it  shall  vanish  away.  For  we  know  in 
part,  and  we  prophesy  in  part.  But  when  that  which  is 
perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in  part  shall  be  done 
away. 

When  I  was  a  child,  I  spake  as  a  child,  I  understood  as  a 
thild,  I  thought  as  a  child;  but  when  I  became  a  man,  I  put 


204  SELECTIONS  IN  PKOSE. 

away  childish,  things.  For  now  we  see  through  a  glass,  dartlj ; 
but  then,  face  to  face :  now  I  know  in  part ;  but  then  shall  1 
know,  even  as  also  I  am  known.  And  now  abideth  faith,  hope, 
charity,  these  three  ;  but  the  greatest  of  tliese  is  charity. 

St.  Paul. 


1*75.      THE  KIGIITS  OF  THE  PLEBEIANS. 

What  an  insult  upon  us  is  this  ?  If  we  are  not  so  rich  as 
the  patricians,  are  we  not  citizens  of  Rome  as  well  as  they  ?  in- 
habitants of  the  same  country'  ?  members  of  the  same  commu- 
nity ?  The  nations  bordering  upon  Rome,  and  even  strangers 
more  remote,  are  admitted,  not  only  to  marriage  with  us,  but  to 
what  is  of  much  greater  importance,  the  freedom  of  the  city. 
Are  we,  because  we  are  commoners,  to  be  worse  treated  than 
f;trangers  ?  And,  when  we  demand  that  the  people  may  be 
free  to  bestow  their  offices  and  dignities  on  whom  they  please, 
do  we  ask  any  thing  unreasonable  or  new  ?  Do  we  claim  more 
than  their  original  inherent  right  ?  What  occasion,  then,  for  all 
this  uproar,  as  if  the  universe  were  falling  to  ruin  ?  They  were 
just  going  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  me  in  the  senate-house. 

What !  must  this  empire,  then,  be  unavoidably  overturned  ? 
must  Rome  of  necessity  sink  at  once,  if  a  plebeian,  worthy  of 
the  office,  should  be  raised  to  the  consulship  ?  The  patricians, 
I  am  persuaded,  if  they  could,  would  deprive  you  of  the  com- 
mon light.  It  certainly  offiinds  them  that  you  breathe,  that  you 
speak,  that  you  have  the  shapes  of  men.  Nay,  but  to  make  a 
commoner  a  consul,  would  be,  say  they,  a  most  enormous  thing. 
Numa  PompiMus,  however,  without  being  so  much  as  a  Roman 
citizen,  was  made  king  of  Rome.  The  elder  Tarquin,  by  birth 
not  even  an  Italian,  was  nevertheless  placed  upon  the  throne. 
Servius  TuUius,  the  son  of  a  captive  woman,  obtained  the  king- 
dom as  the  reward  of  his  wisdom  and  virtue.  In  those  days,  no 
man  in  whom  virtue  shone  conspicuous,  was  rejected  or  despised 
on  account  of  his  race  and  descent.  Canuleius. 


]  76.      BRUTUS  JUSTIFYING  THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  C..ESA~R. 

Romans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  !  hear  me  for  my  cause ; 
and  be  silent,  that  you  may  hear.     Believe  me  for  mine  honor  ; 


SIIAKSPEAKE.  205 

and  have  respect  to  mine  lionor,  that  you  may  beheve.  Cen- 
sure me  in  your  wisdom  ;  and  awake  your  senses,  that  yuu  may 
the  better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly,  any  dear 
friend  of  CaDsar's,  to  him  I  say,  that  Brutus'  love  to  Csesar  was 
•no  less  than  his.  If  then  that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose 
against  Caesar,  this  is  my  answer, — not  that  I  loved  Caesar  less, 
but  that  I  loved  Rome  more. 

Had  you  rather  Csesar  were  living,  and  die  all  slaves,  than 
that  Csesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen  ?  As  Csesar  loved 
me,  I  weep  for  him  ;  as  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ;  as  he 
was  valiant,  I  honor  him ;  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him. 
There  are  tears,  for  his  love  ;  joy,  for  his  fortune  ;  honor,  for 
his  valor ;  and  death,  for  his  ambition.  Who's  here  so  base, 
that  would  be  a  bondman  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I 
offended.  Who's  here  so  rude,  that  would  not  be  a  Roman  ?  If 
any,  speak  ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who's  here  so  vile,  that 
will  not  love  his  country  ?  If  any,  speak ;  for  him  have  I 
oflf^nded.     I  pause  for  a  reply. 

None  !  Then  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no  more  to 
CcDsar  than  you  shall  do  to  Brutus.  The  question  of  his  death 
is  enrolled  in  the  capitol ;  his  glory  not  extenuated,  wherein  he 
was  worthy ;  nor  his  offences  enforced,  for  which  he  suffered 
death. 

Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony  ;  who, 
though  he  had  no  hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  benefit 
of  his  dying — a  place  in  the  commonwealth ;  as  Avhich  of  you 
shall  not  ?  With  this  I  depart ;  that,  as  I  slew  my  best  lover 
for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself,  when 
it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death. 

Shakspeare. 


17  7.    hamlet's  address  to  the  players. 

Speak  the  speech,  I  pray  you,  as  I  pronounced  it  to  you, 
trippingly  on  the  tongue  ;  but  if  you  mouth  it,  as  many  of  our 
players  do,  I  had  as  lief  the  town-criers  spoke  my  lines.  Nor 
do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  yoiu-  hand,  thus  ;  but  use  all 
gently ;  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and  (as  I  may  sa} ) 
whirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget  a  tem- 
perance, that  may  give  it  smoothness.  Oh,  it'offends  me  to  the 
soul,  to  hear  a  i-obustious  periwig-pated  fellow  tear  a  passion  to 
tatters,  to  very  rags,  to  split  the  ears  of  the  groundlings  ;  who. 


206  SELECTIONS  IN  PEOSE. 

for  the  most  part,  are  capable  of  nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb- 
shows  and  noise  :  I  would  have  such  a  fellow  whipped  for  o'er- 
doing  Termageus ;  it  out-herods  Herod :  I  pray  you  avoid  it. 
Be  not  too  tame  neither,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be  your 
tutor :  suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action  ;  with 
this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep  not  the  modesty  of 
nature  :  for  any  thing  so  overdone  is  from  the  purpose  of  play- 
ing, whose  end,  both  at  the  first  and  now,  was,  and  is,  to  hold,  as 
it  were,  the  mirror  up  to  nature ;  to  show  virtue  her  own  fea- 
ture, scorn  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and  body  of  the 
time,  his  form  and  pressure.  Now  this,  overdone,  or  come  tardy 
off,  though  it  make  the  unskilful  laugh,  cannot  but  make  the 
judicious  grieve ;  the  censure  of  which  one,  must  in  your  allow- 
ance o'erweigh  a  whole  theatre  of  others.  Oh,  there  be  players, 
that  I  have  seen  play, — and  heard  others  praise,  and  that 
highly, — not  to  speak  it  profanely,  that,  neither  having  the  accent 
of  Christians,  nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  Pagan,  nor  man,  have  so 
strutted  and  bellowed,  that  I  have  thought  some  of  nature's 
journeymen  had  made  men,  and  not  made  them  well,  they  imi- 
tated humanity  so  abominably.  Shakspeare. 

/ 


207 


COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 


1.      ONE  GOOD  TURN  DESERVES  ANOTHER. 

Will  Wag  went  to  see  Charley  Quirk, 

More  famed  for  his  books  than  his  knowledge. 

In  order  to  borrow  a  work 
He  had  sought  for  in  vain  over  college. 

But  Charley  replied,  "  My  dear  friend, 
You  must  know  I  have  sworn  and  agreed 

My  books  from  my  room  not  to  lend, — 
But  you  may  sit  hy  my  fire  and  read^ 

Now  it  happened,  by  chance,  on  the  morrow, 

That  Quirk,  with  a  cold,  quivering  air. 
Came  his  neighbor  Will's  bellows  to  borrow, 

For  his  own  they  were  out  of  repair. 

But  Willy  rephed,  "  My  dear  friend, 

I  have  sworn  and  agreed,  you  must  knoAv, 

That  my  bellows  I  never  will  lend, — 

But  you  may  sit  hy  my  fire  and  blow.''        ^^^^^  Gilmam 


2.      THE  DILATORY  SCHOLAR. 

On  !  where  is  my  hat  ? — it  is  taken  away. 

And  my  shoestrings  are  all  in  a  knot ! 
I  can't  find  a  thing  where  it  should  be  to-day, 

Though  I've  hunted  in  every  spot. 

My  slate  and  my  pencil  nowhere  can  be  found. 
Though  I  placed  them  as  safe  as  could  be  ; 

While  my  books  and  my  maps  are  all  scattered  around. 
And  hop  about  just  like  a  flea. 


208  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS 

Do,  Rachel,  just  look  for  my  Atlas,  up  stairs ; 

My  Virgil  is  somewhere  there,  too ; 
And,  sister,  brush  down  these  troublesome  hairs, — 

And,  brother,  just  fasten  my  shoe. 

And,  m©ther,  beg  father  to  write  an  excuse  ; 

But  stop — he  will  only  say  "No," 
And  go  on  with  a  smile,  and  keep  reading  the  news. 

While  every  thing  bothers  me  so. 

My  satchel  is  heavy  and  ready  to  fall ; 

This  old  pop-gun  is  breaking  my  map ; 
I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  pop-gun  or  ball, — 

There's  no  playing  for  such  a  poor  chap  ! 

The  town-clock  will  strike  in  a  minute,  I  fear ; 

Then  away  to  the  foot  I  must  sink : — 
There,  look  at  my  History,  tumbled  down  here  ! 

And  my  Algebra  covered  with  ink ! 

I  wish  I'd  not  lingered  at  breakfast  the  last. 
Though  the  toast  and  the  butter  were  fine  : 

I  think  that  our  Edward  must  eat  very  fast, 
To  be  oflf  when  I  haven't  done  mine. 

Now,  Edward  and  Henry  protest  they  won't  wait. 

And  beat  on  the  door  with  their  sticks ; 

I  suppose  they  will  say  I  was  dressing  too  late  : 

To-morrow  I'll  be  up  at  six.  t^     ^ 

^  Mes.  Oilman 


3.      ORATOR  PUFF. 

Mr.  Orator  Puff  had  two  tones  in  his  voice. 

The  one  squeaking  thus,  and  the  other  down  so ; 
In  each  sentence  he  uttered  he  gave  you  your  choice, 
For  one  half  was  B  alt,  and  the  rest  G  below. 
Oh  !  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 
One  voice  for  an  orator's  surely  enough. 

But  he  still  talked  away,  spite  of  coughs  and  of  frowns, 

So  distracting  all  ears  with  his  ups  and  his  downs. 
That  a  wag  once,  on  hearing  the  orator  say, 

"My  voice  is  for  war,"  asked  him,  "Which  of  them,  pray  ?** 
Oh  !  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 
One  voice  for  an  orator's  sarely  enough. 


TIIOMAS  MOOKE. COWPER.  209 

Reeling  homewards,  one  evening,  top-heavy  with  gin, 

And  rehearsing  his  speech  on  the  weight  of  the  crown, 
He  tripp'd  near  a  saw-pit,  and  tumbled  right  in, 

"  Sinking  fund,"  the  last  words  as  his  noddle  came  down. 
Oh  !  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 
One  voice  for  an  orator's  surely  enough. 

*'  Good  Lord !"  he  exclaim'd,  in  his  he-and-she-tones, 

"  Help  me  out !  help  me  out ! — I  have  broken  my  bones  !" 
*'  Help  you  out !"  said  a  Paddy,  who  passed,  "  what  a  bother  ! 
Why,  there's  two  of  you  there ;  can't  you  help  one  another  ?*' 
Oh !  .oh !  Orator  Puff, 
One  voice  for  an  orator's  surely  enough. 

Thomas  Mooue. 


4.      THE  JACKDAW. 

There  is  a  bird,  who,  by  his  coat. 
And  by  the  hoarseness  of  his  note. 

Might  be  supposed  a  crow  ; 
A  great  frequenter  of  the  church. 
Where,  bishop-like,  he  finds  a  perch. 

And  dormitory  too. 

Above  the  steeple  shines  a  plate. 
That  turns,  and  turns,  to  indicate 

From  what  point  blows  the  weather : 
Look  up — your  brains  begin  to  swim, — 
'Tis  in  the  clouds — that  pleases  him. 

He  chooses  it  the  rather. 

Fond  of  the  speculative  height. 
Thither  he  wings  his  airy  flight. 

And  thence,  securely,  sees 
The  bustle  and  the  raree-show. 
That  occupy  mankind  below, 

Secure,  and  at  his  ease. 

You  think,  no  doubt,  he  sits,  and  muses, 
On  future  broken  bones  and  bruises. 

If  he  should  chance  to  fall  ; 
No  ;  not  a  single  thought  like  that. 
Employs  his  philosophic  pate. 

Or  troubles  it  at  all. 


210  COMIC  AND  AltruSING  SELECTIONS. 

He  sees  that  this  great  roundabout. 
The  world,  with  all  its  motley  rout. 

Church,  army,  physic,  law. 
Its  customs,  and  its  bus'nesses. 
Is  no  concern  at  all  of  his. 

And  says — what  says  he  ? — Caw. 

Thrice  happy  bird !  I  too  have  seen 
Much  of  the  vanities  of  men  ; 

And,  sick  of  having  seen  'em. 
Would,  cheerfully,  these  limbs  resign, 
For  such  a  pair  of  wings  as  thine. 

And  such  a  head  between  'em. 


COWPER. 


5.      NOSE  VS.  EYES. 

Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose,  - 
The  spectacles  set  them,  unhappily,  wrong ; 

The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows. 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 

So  the  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued  the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig  full  of  learning ; 

While  chief  baron  Ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws. 
So  famed  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

In  behalf  of  the  Nose,  it  will  quickly  appear. 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find 

That  the  Nose  has  had  spectacles  always  in  wear. 
Which  amounts  to  possession,  time  out  of  mind. 

Then,  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court — 

Your  lordship  observes  they  are  made  with  a  straddle. 

As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is  ;  in  short. 
Designed  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 

Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose 

('Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be  again), 

That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  Nose, 

Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear  spectacles  then  ? 

On  the  whole,  it  appears,  and  my  argument  shows. 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  will  never  condemn. 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  made  for  the  Nose, 
And  the  Nose  was  as  plainly  intended  for  them.     - 


COWPEK.  211 

Then,  shifting  his  side,  as  a  lawyer  knows  how. 

He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  Eyes ; 
But  what  were  his  arguments  few  people  know, 

For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally  wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed,  with  a  grave,  solemn  tone. 

Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  if  or  but — 
That  whenever  the  Nose  put  his  spectacles  on. 

By  daylight  or  candle-light,  Eyes  should  be  shut. 

COWPEB. 


0.      CONVERSATION. 

The  emphatic  speaker  dearly  loves  to  oppose, 

In  contact  inconvenient,  nose  to  nose. 

As  if  the  gnomon  on  his  neighbor's  phiz, 

Touched  with  a  magnet,  had  attracted  his. 

His  whispered  theme,  dilated,  and  at  large, 

Proves,  after  all,  a  wind-gun's  airy  charge, — 

An  extract  of  his  diary — no  more, — 

A  tasteless  journal  of  the  day  before. 

He  walked  abroad,  o'ertaken  in  the  rain. 

Called  on  a  friend,  drank  tea,  stepped  home  again, 

Resumed  his  purpose,  had  a  world  of  talk 

With  one  he  stumbled  on,  and  lost  his  walk. 

I  interrupt  him  with  a  sudden  bow, — 

"  Adieu,  dear  sir  !  lest  you  should  lose  it  now." 

I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room,-^ 
A  fine  puss,  gentlemen,  that's  all  perfume  : 
His  odoriferous  attempts  to  please. 
Perhaps  might  prosper  with  a  swarm  of  bees  ; 
But  we  that  make  no  honey,  though  we  sting, — 
(Poets) — are  sometimes  apt  to  maul  the  thing. 

A  graver  coxcomb  we  may  sometimes  see. 
Quite  as  absurd,  though  not  so  light  as  he  ; 
A  shalloAV  brain  behind  a  serious  mask. 
An  oracle  within  an  empty  cask. 
The  solemn  fop, — significant  and  budge, 
A  fool  with  judges,  amongst  fools  a  judgef 
He  says  but  little,  and  that  little  said 
Owes  all  its  weight,  like  loaded  dice,  to  lead. 


212  COMIC  AND  AMUSING-  SELECTIONS. 

His  wit  invites  you,  by  his  looks,  to  come. 

But,  when  you  knock,  it  never  is  at  home : 

*Tis  like  a  parcel  sent  you  by  the  stage, — 

Some  handsome  present,  as  your  hopes  presage  : 

'Tis  heavy,  bulky,  and  bids  fair  to  prove 

An  absent  friend's  fidehty  and  love, — 

But,  when  unpacked,  your  disappointment  groans, 

To  find  it  stuffed  with  brickbats,  earth,  and  stones. 

COWPER, 


7.     THE  RifiMOVAL. 

A  NERVOUS  old  gentleman,  tired  of  trade, — 
By  which,  though,  it  seems,  he  a  fortune  had  made, — 
Took  a  house  'tvvixt  two  sheds,  at  the  skirts  of  the  town. 
Which  he  meant,  at  his  leisure,  to  buy  and  pull  down. 

This  thought  struck  his  mind  when  he  viewed  the  estate ; 
But,  alas  !  when  he  entered  he  found  it  too  late  ; 
For  in  each  dwelt  a  smith  : — a  more  hard-working  two 
Never  doctored  a  patient,  or  put  on  a  shoe. 

At  six  in  the  raoniing,  their  anvils,  at  work. 
Awoke  our  good  squire,  who  raged  like  a  Turk  : 
"  These  fellows,"  he  cried,  "  such  a  clattering  keep. 
That  I  never  can  get  above  eight  hours  of  sleep." 

From  morning  till  night  they  keep  thumping  away, — 
No  sound  but  the  anvil  the  whole  of  the  day : 
His  afternoon's  nap,  and  his  daughter's  new  song. 
Were  banished  and  spoiled  by  their  hammers'  ding-dong. 

He'^ffered  each  Vulcan  to  purchase  his  shop  ; 
But,  no  !  they  were  stubborn,  determined  to  stop  : 
At  length  (both  his  spirits  and  health  to  improve) 
He  cried,  "  I'll  give  each  fifty  guineas  to  move." 

"  Agreed  !"  said  the  pair  ;  "  that  will  make  us  amends." 
"  Then  come  to  my  house,  and  let  us  part  friends : 
You  shall  dine ;  and  we'll  drink  on  this  joyful  occasion, 
That  each  may  live  long  in  his  new  habitation." 

He  gave  the  two  blacksmiths  a  sumptuous  regale, — 
He  spared  not  provisions,  his  wine,  nor  his  ale ; 


ANONYMOUS. OLIVER  W.  HOLMES.  213 

So  much  was  he  pleased  with  the  thought  that  each  guest 
Would  take  from  him  noise,  and  restore  to  him  rest. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  **  tell  me,  Avhere  mean  you  to  move — 
I  hope  to  some  spot  where  your  trade  will  improve  ?" 
*'  Why,  sir,"  replied  one,  with  a  grin  on  his  phiz, 
**  Tom  Forge  moves  to  my  shop,  and  I  move  to  his  !" 

ANONYMOUa     . 


8.      MY  AUNT. 


My  aunt  !  my  dear  unmarried  aunt ! 

Long  years  have  o'er  her  flown  ; 
Yet  still  she  strains  the  aching  clasp 

That  binds  her  virgin  zone  : 
I  know  it  hurts  her, — though  she  looks 

As  cheerful  as  she  can  : 
Her  waist  is  ampler  than  her  life. 

For  life  is  but  a  span. 

My  aunt !  my  poor  deluded  aunt ! 

Her  hair  is  almost  gray  : 
Why  will  she  train  that  winter  curl 

In  such  a  spring-like  way  ? 
How  can  she  lay  her  glasses  down, 

And  say  she  reads  as  well. 
When,  through  a  double  convex  lens. 

She  just  makes  out  to  spell. 

Her  father — ^grandpapa !  forgive 

This  erring  lip  its  smiles — 
Vowed  she  would  make  the  finest  girl 

Within  a  hundred  miles. 
He  sent  her  to  a  stylish  school — 

'Twas  in  her  thirteenth  June  ; 
And  with  her,  as  the  rules  required, 

"  Two  towels  and  a  spoon." 

They  braced  my  aunt  against  a  board, 
To  make  her  straight  and  tall ; 

They  laced  her  up,  they  starved  her  down, 
To  make  her  light  and  small ; 


214  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECIIONS. 

They  pinched  her  feet,  they  singed  her  hair, 

They  screwed  it  up  with  pins  ; — 
Oh,  never  mortal  suffered  more 

In  penance  for  her  sins  ! 

So,  when  my  precious  aunt  was  done, 

My  grandsire  brought  her  back  ; 
(By  daylight,  lest  some  rabid  youth 

Might  follow  on  the  track.") 
"  Ah  !"  said  my  grandsire,  as  he  shook 

Some  powder  in  his  pan, 
"  What  could  this  lovely  creature  do 

Against  a  desperate  man  ?" 

Alas  !  nor  chariot,  nor  barouche, 

Nor  bandit  cavalcade. 
Tore  from  the  father's  trembling  arms 

His  all-accomplished  maid. 
For  her  how  happy  had  it  been  ! 

And  heaven  had  spared  to  me 
To  see  one  sad,  ungathered  rose 

On  my  ancestral  tree.  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^ 


9.     THE  FEATURES. 

That  mortals  are  made  up  of  quarrelsome  clay, 

My  tale,  I  imagine,  will  prove  as  it  goes  ; 
For  the  features  composing  the  visage,  one  day. 

Most  cruelly  fell  to  abusing  the  Nose. 
First,  the  Lips  took  it  up,  and  their  reason  was  this  : 

That  the  Nose  was  a  bane  both  to  beauty  and  love 
And  they  never,  moreover,  in  comfort  could  kiss, 

For  that  horrid  protuberance  jutting  above ! 

Then  Eyes,  not  behind  in  the  matter  to  be. 

With  a  sparkle  began,  as  I've  often  times  seen  'em. 
And  vowed,  it  was  perfectly  shocking  to  see  ' 

Such  a  lump  of  deformity  sticking  between  'em." 
The  Cheeks,  with  a  blush,  said,  *'  the  frightfulest  shade. 

By  the  Nose,  o'er  their  bloom  and  their  beauty  was  thiown  ;' 
And  Ears  couldn't  bear  the  loud  trumpeting  noise. 

Whenever  that  troublesome  member  was  blown ! 


NEW  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. THOMAS  HOOD.     215 

So  'twcis  moved,  and  agreed,  without  dallying  more, 

To  thrust  the  intruder,  at  once,*from  the  face. 
But  Nose,  hearing  this,  most  indignantly  swore, 

"  By  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  he'd  stick  to  his  place  !" 
Then,  addressing  the  Eyes,  he  went  learnedly  through 

His  defence,  and  inquired,  "  when  their  vigor  was  gone, 
Pray  what  would  their  worship  for  spectacles  do, 

If  the  face  had  no  nose,  to  hang  spectacles  on  ?" 

"  Mankind,"  he  observed,  "  loved  their  scent,  as  their  sight ; 

Or  who'd  care  a  farthing  for  myrtles  and  roses  ? 
And  the  charge  of  the  Lips  was  as  frivolous  quite  ; 

For,  if  Lips  fancied  kissing,  pray,  why  mightn't  Noses  ? 
As  for  Ears," — and,  speaking.  Nose  scornfully  curled, — 

"  Their  murmurs  were  equally  trifling  and  teasing. 
And  not  all  the  Ears,  Eyes,  or  Lips  in  the  world, 

Should  keep  him  unblown,  or  prevent  him  from  sneezing.'* 

*'  To  the  Cheeks,"  he  contended,  "  he  acted  as  screen. 

And  guarded  them  oft  from  the  wind  and  the  weather ; 
And  but  that  he  stood  like  a  landmark  between, 

The  face  had  been  nothing  but  cheek  altogether!" 
With  eloquence  thus  he  repelled  their  abuse. 

With  logical  clearness  defining  the  case  ; 
And  from  thence  came  the  saying,  so  frequent  in  use, 

That  an  argument's  plain  "  as  the  nose  on  your  face  !" 

New  Monthly  Magazine. 


10.      MORNING  MEDITATIONS. 

Let  others  preach  upon  a  morning  breezy, 

How  well  to  rise  while  night  and  larks  are  flying ; 
For  my  part,  getting  up  seems  not  so  easy. 
By  half,  as  lying. 

What  if  the  lark  does  carol  in  the  sky. 

Soaring  beyond  the  sight  to  find  him  out — 
Wherefore  am  I  to  rise  at  such  a  fly  ? 

I'm  not  a  trout. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  bees  and  such  like  hums  ; 

They  smell  of  sweet  herbs  at  the  morning  prime  : 
Only  lie  long  enough,  and  bed  becomes 

A  bed  of  time. 


216  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

To  me  Dan  Phoebus  and  his  cars  are  naught. 

His  steeds  that  paw  impatiently  about ; 
Let  them  enjoy,  say  I,  as  horses  ought, 

The  first  turn  out. 

Right  beautiful  the  dewy  meads  appear, 
Besprinkled  by  the  rosy-fingered  girl ; 
What  then — if  I  prefer  my  pillow  dear 

To  early  pearl  ? 

My  stomach  is  not  ruled  by  other  men's, 

And,  grumbling  for  a  season,  quaintly  begs — 
Wherefore  should  miser  rise  before  the  hens 

Have  laid  their  eggs  ? 

Why  from  a  comfortable  pillow  start. 

To  see  faint  flushes  in  the  east  awaken  ? 
A  fig,  say  I,  for  any  streaky  part. 

Excepting  bacon. 

An  early  riser  Mr.  Gray  has  drawn, 

Who  used  to  haste  the  dewy  grass  among. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn — 

Well — he  died  young. 

With  chairwomen  such  early  hours  agree. 

And  sweeps  that  earn  betimes  their  bite  and  sup  ; 
But  I'm  no  chmbing  boy,  and  will  not  be 
All  up — all  up. 

So  here  I'll  lie,  my  morning  calls  deferring, 

Till  something  nearer  J^o  the  stroke  of  noon  : 
A  man  that's  fond  precociously  of  stirring^ 
Must  be  a  spoon. 

Thomas  Hood. 


11.      MAJOR  BROWN. 

If  any  man,  in  any  age, 

In  any  town  or  city, 
Was  ever  valiant,  courteous,  sage, 

Experienced,  wise,  or  witty. 

That  man  was  Major  Brown  by  name 
The  fact  you  cannot  doubt, 


THOMAS  HOOD.  217 

For  he  himself  would  say  the  same. 
Ten  times  a  day,  about. 

The  major  in  the  foreign  wars 

Indifferently  had  fared  ; 
For  he  was  coVered  o'er  with  scars, 

Though  he  was  never  scared. 

But  war  had  now  retired  to  rest. 

And  piping  peace  returned ; 
Yet  still  within  his  ardent  breast,  , 

The  major's  spirit  burned. 

When  suddenly  he  heard  of  one 

Who,  in  an  air  balloon 
Had  gone — I  can't  tell  where  he*d  gone— 

Almost  into  the  moon. 

"  Let  me — let  me,"  the  major  cries, 

"  Let  me,  like  him,  ascend ; 
And  if  it  fall  that  I  should  rise. 

Who  knows  where  it  may  end  ?" 

The  cords  are  cut — a  mighty  shout ! — 

The  globe  ascends  on  high  ; 
And,  like  a  ball  from  gun  shot  out. 

The  major  mounts  the  sky — 

Or  would  have  done,  but  cruel  chance 

Forbade  it  so  to  be  ; 
And  bade  the  major  not  advance — 

Caught  in  a  chestnnt-tree. 

But  soon  the  awkward  branch  gives  way. 

He  smooths  his  angry  brow, 
Shoots  upward,  rescued  from  delay. 

And  makes  the  branch  a  bow : 

Till,  mounting  furlongs  now  some  dozens, 

And  peeping  down,  he  pants 
To  see  his  mother,  sisters,  cousins, 

And  uncles,  look  hke  ants. 

That  Brown  looked  blue  1  will  not  say — 

His  uniform  was  red ; — 
But  he  thought  that  if  his  car  gave  way 

He  should  probably  be  dead. 
10 


218  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONB. 

He  gave  his  manly  breast  a  slap. 
And  loudly  shouted  "  Courage  !" 

And  waved  above  his  head  the  cap 
In  which  he  used  to  forage. 

And  up  he  went,  and  looked  around 
To  see  what  there  might  be. 

And  felt  convinced  that  on  the  ground 
Were  better  things  to  see. 

A  strange  bird  came  his  path  across. 
Whose  name  he  did  not  know ; 

Quoth  he,  "  'Tis  like  an  albatross," — 
It  proved  to  be  a  crow. 

"  I  wish  that  you  would  please  to  drop,** 
Quoth  Brown  to  his  balloon ; — 

He  might  as  well  have  spoken  to 
The  man  that's  in  the  moon. 

And  now  the  heavens  begin  to  lower. 
And  thunders  loud  to  roll ; 
^  And  winds  and  rains  to  blow  and  pour 
That  would  daunt  a  general's  soul. 

Such  a  hurricane  to  Major  Brown 
Must  most  unpleasant  be ; 

And  he  said,  "  If  I  cannot  get  down, 
'Twill  be  all  up  with  me !" 

From  his  pocket,  then,  a  knife  he  took— 
In  Birmingham,  'twas  made — 
>        The  handle  was  of  handsome  look, 
Of  tempered  steel  the  blade. 

Says  he,  "  The  acquaintance  of  a  balloon 

I  certainly  shall  cut ;" 
So  in  the  silken  bag,  full  soon 

His  penknife  blade  he  put. 

Out  rushed  the  gas  imprisoned  there,— 
The  balloon  began  to  sink ;  v 

"  I  shall  surely  soon  get  out  of  the  air," 
Said  Major  Brown,  *'  I  think." 

AlsLS  for  Brown,  balloon,  and  car. 
The  gas  went  out  too  fast ; 


THOMAS  HOOD.  219 

The  car  went  upside  down,  and  far 
Poor  Major  Brown  was  cast. 

Long  time  head  over  heels  he  tum- 
bled, till  unto  the  ground, 

As  I  suppose,  he  must  have  come ; 
But  he  was  never  found. 

The  car  was  found  in  London  town ; 

The  bag  to  Oxford  flew ; 
But  what  became  of  Major  Brown, 

No  mortal  ever  knew.  r^^oMAs  Hool 


12.      THE  DUEL. 


In  Brentford  town,  of  old  renown, 

There  lived  a  Mister  Bray, 
Who  fell  in  love  with  Lucy  Bell, 

And  so  did  Mister  Clay. 

To  see  her  ride  from  Hammersmith, 

By  all  it  was  allowed. 
Such  fair  "  outside"*  was  never  seen, — 

An  angel  on  a  cloud. 

Said  Mr.  Bray  to  Mr.  Clay, 

"  You  choose  to  rival  me 
And  court  Miss  Bell ;  but  there  your  court 

No  thoroughfare  shall  be. 

"  Unless  you  now  give  up  your  suit, 

You  may  repent  your  love  ; — 
I,  who  have  shot  a  pigeon  match. 

Can  shoot  a  turtle-dove. 

"  So,  pray,  before  you  woo  her  more. 

Consider  what  you  do : 
If  you  pop  aught  to  Lucy  Bell, — 

I'll  pop  it  into  you." 

Said  Mr.  Clay  to  Mr,  Bray, 

"  Your  threats  I  do  explode  ; — 

In  England,  women  frequently  ride  on  the  outside  of  Btage-coaches. 


220  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

One  who  has  been  a  volunteer 
Knows  how  to  prime  and  load. 

And  so  I  say  to  you,  unless 

Your  passion  quiet  keeps, 
I,  who  have  shot  and  hit  bulls'  eyes. 

May  chance  to  hit  a  sheep* s  /" 

Now  gold  is  oft  for  silver  changed. 

And  that  for  copper  red  ; 
But  these  two  went  away  to  give 

Each  other  change  for  lead. 

But  first  they  found  a  friend  apiece, 
This  pleasant  thought  to  give — 

That  when  they  both  were  dead,  they'd  have 
Two  seconds  yet  to  Uve. 

To  measure  out  the  ground,  not  long 

The  seconds  next  forbore  ; 
And  having  taken  one  rash  step. 

They  took  a  dozen  more. 

They  next  prepared  each  pistol  pan, 

Against  the  deadly  strife ; 
By  putting  in  the  prime  of  death. 

Against  the  prime  of  hfe. 

Now  all  was  ready  for  the  foes ; 
But  when  they  took  their  stands, 
.  Fear  made  them  tremble  so,  they  found 
They  both  were  shaking  hinds. 

Said  Mr.  C.  to  Mr.  B., 

"  Here  one  of  us  may  fall. 
And,  like  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  now. 

Be  doomed  to  have  a  hall. 

*'  I  do  confess  I  did  attach 

Misconduct  to  your  name  ! 
If  I  withdraw  the  charge,  will  then 

Your  ramrod  do  the  same  ?" 

Said  Mr.  B.,  "I  do  agree ; — 
But  think  of  Honor's  courts, — 

If  we  off  without  a  shot. 
There  will  be  strange  reports. 


THOMAS  HOOD.  221 

*'  But  look  !  the  morning  now  is  bright, 

Though  cloudy  it  begun  ; 
Why  can't  we  aim  above,  as  if 

We  had  called  out  the  sun  ?" 

So  up  into  the  harmless  air 

Their  bullets  they  did  send  ; 
And  may  all  other  duels  have 

That  upshot  in  the  end.  Thomas  Hooa 


13.      JOHN  DAY. 


John  Day,  he  was  the  biggest  man, 

Of  all  the  coachman  kind  ; 
With  back  too  broad  to  be  conceived 

By  any  narrow  mind. 

The  bar-maid  of  "  The  Crown"  he  loved. 
From  whom  he  never  ranged ; 

For,  though  he  changed  his  horses  there. 
His  love  he  never  changed. 

One  day,  as  she  was  sitting  down 

Beside  the  porter  pump. 
He  came  and  knelt,  with  all  his  fat. 

And  made  an  offer  plump. 

Said  she,  **  My  taste  will  never  learn 

To  like  so  huge  a  man ; 
So  I  must  beg  you  will  come  here 

As  httle  as  you  can." 

But  still  he  stoutly  urged  his  suit. 
With  vows,  and  sighs,  and  tears, 

Yet  could  not  pierce  her  heart,  although 
He  drove  the  **  Dart"  for  years. 

In  vain  he  wooed — ^in  vain  he  sued — 
The  maid  was  cold  and  proud. 

And  sent  him  off  to  Coventry, 
While  on  the  way  to  Stroud. 

He  fretted  all  the  way  to  Stroud, 
And  thence  all  back  to  town ; 


223  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

The  course  of  love  was  never  smooth, 
So  his  went  up  and  down. 

At  last,  her  coldness  made  him  pine 

To  merely  bones  and  skin  ; 
But  still  he  loved  like  one  resolved 

To  love  through  thick  and  thin. 

"  0,  Mary  !  view  my  wasted  back. 

And  see  my  dwindled  calf ! 
Though  I  have  never  had  a  wife, 

I've  lost  my  better  half !" 

Alas  !  in  vain  he  still  assailed, 

Her  heart  withstood  the  dint ; 
Though  he  had  carried  sixteen  stone, 

He  could  not  move  a  flint ! 

Worn  out,  at  last  he  made  a  vow, 

To  break  his  being's  link. 
For  he  was  so  reduced  in  size, 

At  nothing  he  could  shrink. 

Now,  some  will  talk  in  water's  praise. 

And  waste  a  deal  of  breath  ; 
But  John,  though  he  drank  nothing  else. 

He  drank  himself  to  death. 

The  cruel  maid,  that  caused  his  love. 

Found  out  the  fatal  close. 
For,  looking  in  the  butt,  she  saw 

The  butt  end  of  his  woes. 

Some  say  his  spirit  haunts  the  Crown ; 

But  that  is  only  talk ; 
For,  after  riding  all  his  life, 

His  ghost  objects  to  walk.  Teomas  Hooa 


14.      THE  TROUBLESOME  WIFF. 

A  MAN  had  once  a  vicious  wife — 
(A  most  uncommon  thing  in  life)  ; 
His  days  and  nights  were  spent  in  strife  unceasing. 

Her  tongue  went  glibly  all  day  long, 

Sweet  contradiction  still  her  song, 

And  all  the  poor  man  did  was  wrong,  and  ill-done. 


ANONYMOUS.  223 

A  truce  without  doors,  or  within, 
From  speeches  long  as  tradesmen  spin, 
Or  rest  from  her  eternal  din,  he  found  not. 

He  every  soothing  art  displayed  ; 
Tried  of  what  stuff  her  skin  was  made : 
Failing  in  all,  to  Heaven  he  prayed  to  take  her. 

Once,  walking  by  a  river's  side. 

In  mournful  terms,  "  My  dear,"  he  cried, 

**  No  more  let  feuds  our  peace  divide  :  I'll  end  them. 

**  "Weary  of  life,  and  quite  resigned. 

To  drown,  I  have  made  up  my  mind. 

So  tie  my  hands  as  fast  behind,  as  can  be  ; 

"  Or  nature  may  assert  her  reign. 

My  arms  assist,  my  will  restrain. 

And  swimming,  I  once  more  regain  my  troubles." 

With  eager  haste  the  dame  complies. 
While  joy  stands  glistening  in  her  eyes : 
Already,  in  her  thoughts,  he  dies  before  her. 

"Yet,  when  I  view  the  rolling  tide, 
Nature  revolts,"  he  said  ;  "  beside, 
I  would  not  be  a  suicide,  and  die  thus. 

"  It  would  be  better  far,  I  think. 

While  close  I  stand  upon  the  brink, 

You  push  me  in — nay,  never  shrink,  but  do  it." 

To  give  the  blow  the  more  efifect. 

Some  twenty  yards  she  ran  direct. 

And  did  what  she  could  least  expect  she  should  do. 

He  slips  aside,  himself  to  save. 

So  souse  she  dashes  in  the  wave. 

And  gave,  what  ne'er  she  gave  before,  much  pleasure. 

"  Dear  husband,  help  !  I  sink  !"  she  cried  ; 
"  Thou  best  of  wives,"  the  man  rephed, 
"  I  would,but  you  my  hands  have  tied  :  heaven  help  you." 

Anonymous. 


224  COMIC  AUlf  AMUSING  SELECTIONS 


15.      THE  COLD-WATER  MAN. 

There  lived  an  honest  fisherman — 
I  knew  him  passing  well — 

"Who  dwelt  hard  by  a  little  pond. 
Within  a  little  dell. 

All  day  that  fisherman  would  sit 

Upon  an  ancient  log. 
And  gaze  into  the  water,  like 

Some  sedentary  frog. 

A  cunning  fisherman  was  he : 

His  angles  all  were  right ; 
And,  when  he  scratched  his  aged  poll. 

You'd  know  he'd  got  a  bite. 

To  charm  the  fish  he  never  spoke. 
Although  his  voice  was  fine ; 

He  found  the  most  convenient  way 
Was  just  to  "  drop  a  line." 

And  many  a  "  gudgeon"  of  th^  pond, 

If  made  to  speak  to-day. 
Would  own,  with  grief,  this  angler  had 

A  mighty  "  taking  way." 

One  day,  While  fishing  on  the  log. 
He  mourned  his  want  of  luck, — 

When,  suddenly,  he  felt  a  bite. 
And,  jerking — caught  a  duck  ! 

Alas !  that  day  the  fisherman 

Had  taken  too  much  grog  ; 
And  being  but  a  landsman,  too. 

He  couldn't  "keep  the  log." 

In  vain  he  strove  with  all  his  might. 
And  tried  to  gain  the  shore ; — 

Down,  down  he  went,  to  feed  the  fish 
He'd  baited  oft  before  ! 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale 
To  all  is  plain  and  clear  ; — 

A  single  "drop  too  much"  of  rum 
May  make  a  watery  bier. 


J.  G.  SAXE.  225 

And  he  who  will  not  "  sign  the  pledge," 

And  keep  his  promise  fast. 
May  be,  in  spite  of  fate,  a  stark 

Cold-water  man  at  last.  j  q.  g^^. 


16.      YOUTHFUL  PRECOCITr. 

Happy  the  youth,  in  this  our  golden  age. 
Condemned  no  more  to  con  the  prosy  page 
Of  Locke  and  Bacon,  antiquated  fools, 
Now  justly  banished  from  our  moral  schools. 
By  easier  modes  philosophy  is  taught. 
Than  through  the  medium  of  laborious  thought. 
Imagination  kindly  serves  in  stead. 
And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  aching  head. 
Room  for  the  sages  ! — ^hither  comes  a  throng 
Of  blooming  Platos  trippingly  along. 
In  dress  how  fitted  to  beguile  the  fair ! 
What  intellectual,  stately  heads — of  hair  ! 
Hark  to  the  oracle  ! — to  Wisdom's  tone 
Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of  cologne. 
That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of  the  van. 
Talks  of  the  **  outer"  and  the  **  inner  man," 
And  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout  resolve 
Some  mountain-sized  "idea"  to  "evolve." 
Delusive  toil ! — thus  in  their  infant  days, 
When  children  mimic  manly  deeds  in  plays, 
Long  will  they  sit,  and  eager,  "  bob  for  whale," 
Within  the  ocean  of  a  water-pail ! 
The  next,  whose  looks  unluckily  reveal 
The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks  conceal. 
Prates  of  the  **  orbs"  with  such  a  knowing  frown, 
You  deem  he  puffs  some  Hthographic  town 
In  western  wilds,  v/here  yet  unbroken  ranks 
Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchartered  "  banks," 
And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the  lots 
Adorned  with  churches  on  the  paper  plots  ! 
In  other  times, — 'twas  many  years  ago, — 
The  scholar's  course  was  toilsome,  rough,  and  slow, 
The  fair  Humanities  were  sought  in  tears, 
And  came,  the  trophy  of  laborious  years. 
10* 


226  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

Now  Learning's  shrine  each  idle  youth  may  seek. 

And,  spending  there  a  shilling  and  a  week 

(At  lightest  cost  of  study,  cash,  and  lungs), 

Come  back,  like  Rumor,  with  "  a  thousand  tongues !" 

What  boots  such  progress,  when  the  golden  load 
From  heedless  haste  is  lost  upon  the  road  ? 
When  each  great  science,  to  the  student's  pace, 
Stands  like  the  wicket,  in  a  hurdle  race. 
Which,  to  o'erleap,  is  all  the  courser's  mind. 
And  all  his  glory,  that  'tis  left  behind  !  j  q^  g^^ 


17.      THE  CONFLAGRATION. 

As  Chaos,  which,  by  heavenly  doom. 
Had  slept  in  everlasting  gloom. 
Started  with  terror  and  surprise. 
When  light  first  flashed  upon  her  eyes — 
So  London's  sons  in  nightcap  woke. 

In  bed-gown  woke  her  dames ; 
.■'"or  shouts  were  heard  'mid  fire  and  smoke 
And  twice  ten  hundred  voices  spoke — 

'*  The  playhouse  is  in  flames  !" 
ilie  summoned  firemen  woke  at  call. 
And  hied  them  to  their  stations  all : 
Starting  from  short  and  broken  snooze. 
Each  sought  his  pond'rous  hobnailed  shoes ; 
And  one,  the  leader  of  the  band, 
From  Charing  Cross  along  the  Strand, 
Like  stag  by  beagles  hunted  hard. 
Ran  till  he  stopt  at  Vin'gar  Yard. 
The  burning  badge  his  shoulder  bore, 
And  belt  and  oil-skin  hat  he  wore. 
The  cane  he  had,  his  men  to  bang. 
Showed  foreman  of  the  British  gang — 
His  name  was  Higginbottom. 
E'en  Higginbottom  now  was  posed. 
For  sadder  scene  was  ne'er  disclosed  ; 
Without,  within,  in  hideous  show. 
Devouring  flames  resistless  glow. 
And  blazing  rafters  downwai-ds  go, 
And  never  halloo,  "  Heads  below  !" 


REJECTED  ADDRESSES.  227 

Nor  notice  give  at  all. 
The  JBremen,  terrified,  are  slow 
To  bid  the  pumping  torrent  flow 

For  fear  the  roof  would  fall. 
Back,  Robins,  back  !  Crump,  stand  aloof ! 
Whitford,  keep  near  the  walls  ! 
Huggins,  regard  your  own  behoof. 
For  lo  !  the  blazing,  rocking  roof 
Down,  down,  in  thunder  falls  ! 
An  awful  pause  succeeds  the  stroke. 
And  o'er  the  ruins  volumed  smoke. 
Rolling  around  its  pitchy  shroud. 
Concealed  them  from  th'  astonished  crowd. 
At  length  the  mist  awhile  was  cleared, 
When,  lo  !  amid  the  wreck  upreared, 
Gradually  a  moving  head  appeared. 

And  Eagle  firemen  knew 
'Twas  Joseph  Muggins,  name  revered, 

The  foreman  of  their  crew. 
Loud  shouted  all  in  signs  of  woe, 
**  A  Muggins  !  to  the  rescue,  ho  !" 

And  poured  the  hissing  tide  : 
Meanwhile  the  Muggins  fought  amain. 
And  strove  and  struggled  all  in  vain. 
For,  rallying  but  to  fall  again. 

He  tottered,  sunk,  and  died. 
Did  none  attempt,  before  he  fell, 
To  succor  one  they  loved  so  well  ? 
Yes,  Higginbottom  did  aspire 
(His  fireman's  soul  was  all  on  fire) 

His  brother  chief  to  save  ; 
But  ah  !  his  reckless,  generous  ire 

Served  but  to  share  his  grave  ! 
'Mid  blazing  beams  and  scalding  streams. 
Through  fire  and  smoke  he  dauntless  broke,  ' 

Where  Muggins  broke  before. 
But  sulphury  stench  and  boiling  drench. 
Destroying  sight,  o'erwhelmed  him  quite. 

He  sunk  to  rise  no  more. 
Still  o'er  his  head,  while  Fate  he  braved. 
His  whizzing  water-pipe  he  waved ; 
"  Whitford  and  Mitford,  ply  your  pumps. 
You,  Clutterbuck,  come,  stir  your  stumps. 
Why  are  you  in  such  doleful  dumps  ? 


228  COMIC  AUB  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

A  fireman,  and  afraid  of  bumps  ! — 

What  are  they  fear'd  on  ?  fools  !  'od  rot  'em  ''* 

Were  the  last  words  of  Higginbottom. 

Rejected  ADDREaSBS. 


18.     FOLLOW  YOUR  NOSE. 

Kind  friends,  at  your  call  I'm  come  here  to  sing. 

Or  rather  to  talk  of  my  woes  ; 
Though  small's  the  delight  to  you  I  can  bring, 

The  subject's  concerning  my  nose. 
Some  noses  are  large,  and  others  are  small. 

For  nature's  vagaries  are  such. 
To  some  folks,  I'm  told,  she  gives  no  nose  at  all. 

But  to  me  she  has  given  too  much. 
Oh,  dear  !  lauks-a-daisy  me  ! 
My  cause  of  complaint,  and  the  worst  of  my  woes. 
Is,  because  I  have  got  such  a  shocking  long  nose. 

Some  insult  or  other,  each  day  I  do  meet. 

And  by  joking,  my  friends  are  all  foes ; 
And  the  boys  every  day,  as  I  go  through  the  street. 

All  bellow  out — "  There  goes  a  nose  !" 
A  woman,  with  matches  one  day,  I  came  near. 

Who,  just  as  I  tried  to  get  by  her. 
Shoved  me  rudely  aside,  and  asked,  with- a  leer. 

If  I  wanted  to  set  her  o'fire  ? 
Oh,  dear  !  lauks-a-daisy  me  ! 
Each  rascal,  each  day,  some  inuendo  throws. 
As,  my  nose  isn't  mine,  I  belongs  to  my  nose. 

I  once  went  a  courting  a  wealthy  old  maid. 

To  be  married  we  were,  the  next  day ; 
But  an  accident  happened,  the  marriage  delayed. 

My  nose  got  too  much  in  the  way. 
For  the  night  before  marriage,  entranced  with  my  bliss- 

In  love,  e'er  some  torment  occurs — 
I  screwed  up  my  lips,  just  to  give  her  a  kiss. 

My  nose  slipped,  and  rubbed  against  hers  ! 
Oh,  dear  !  lauks-a-daisy  me  ! 
The  ring  that  I  gave,  at  my  head  soon  she  throws, 
And  another  tipped  me,  'twas  a  w-ring  on  the  nose. 


ANONYMOUS. JOHN  WOLCOT.  229 

Like  a  porter  all  day,  with  fatigue  fit  to  crack, 

I'm  seeking  for  rest,  at  each  place ; 
Or,  like  Pilgrim  of  old,  with  his  load  at  his  back, 

Only  my  load  I  bear  on  my  face. 
I  can't  get  a  wife,  though  each  hour  hard  I  try. 

The  girls  they  all  blush,  like  a  rose  ; 
**  I'm  afraid  to  have  you !"  when  I  ask  *em  for  why  ? 

Because  you  have  got  such  a  nose. 
Oh,  dear  !  lauks-a-daisy  me  ! 
Their  cause  of  refusal  I  cannot  suppose. 
They  all  like  the  man,  but  they  say — blow  his  nose ! 

Like  a  large  joint  of  meat  before  a  small  fire. 

They  say  that  my  proboscis  hangs — 
Or,  to  a  brass  knocker,  naught  there  can  be  nigher. 

And  in  length  it  a  pump-handle  bangs. 
A  wag,  you  must  know,  just  by  way  of  a  wipe. 

Said,  with  a  grin  on  his  face,  t'other  night. 
As  he  from  his  pocket  was  pulling  a  pipe, 

"  At  your  nose  will  you  give  me  a  hght  ?'* 
Oh,  dear !  lauks-a-daisy  me  ! 
If  I  ask  any  one  my  way  to  disclose. 
If  I  lose  it,  they  answer,  Why,  follow  your  nose. 

Anoxymou& 


19.      ECONOMY. 

Economy's  a  very  useful  broom. 

Yet  should  not  ceaseless  hunt  about  the  room 

To  catch  each  straggling  pin  to  make  a  plum. 
Too  oft  economy's  an  iron  vice, 
That  squeezes  e'en  the  little  frames  of  mice. 

That  peep  with  fearful  eyes,  and  ask  a  crumb. 

f  -Proper  economy's  a  comely  thing ; 
Good  in  a  subject — better  in  a  king ; 

Yet,  pushed  too  far,  it  dulls  each  finer  feeling- 
Most  easily  inclined  to  make  folks  mean  ; 
Inclines  them,  too,  to  villany  to  lean, 

To  overreaching,  perjury,  and  stealing — 
E'en  when  the  heart  should  only  think  of  grief, 
It  creeps  into  the  bosom  hke  a  thief. 


230  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

And  swallows  up  the  affections,  all  so  mild  ;-|- 
Witness  the  Jewess  and  her  only  child. 

Poor  Mistress  Levi  had  a  luckless  son. 

Who,  rushing  to  obtain  the  foremost  seat. 

In  ipaitation  of  the  ambitious  great. 
High  from  the  gallery,  ere  the  play  began, 

He  fell  all  plump  into  the  pit. 

Dead  in  a  minute  as  a  nit : 
In  short,  he  broke  his  pretty  Hebrew  neck, 
Indeed — and  very  dreadful  was  the  wreck ! 

The  mother  was  distracted,  raving,  wild. 

Shrieked,  tore  her  hair,  embraced  and  kissed  her  child. 

Afflicted  every  heart  with  grief  around. 
Soon  as  the  shower  of  tears  was  somewhat  past. 
And  moderated  the  hysteric  blast. 

She  cast  about  her  eyes  in  thought  profound  ; 
And  being  with  a  saving  knowledge  blest. 
She  thus  the  playhouse  manager  addressed  : 

"  Sher,  I  am  de  moder  of  de  poor  Chew  lad, 
Dat  meet  misfortune  here  so  bad ; 
Sher,  I  must  haf  de  shilling  back,  you  know. 
Ass  Moses  haf  nat  see  de  show."  j^^^^  Wolcot 


20.      SHAMUS  o'bRIEN. 

J  1ST  afthcr  the  war,  in  the  year  95, 
As  soon  as  the  boys  wor  all  scattered  and  bate, 
'Twas  the  custom,  whenever  a  pisunt  was  got. 
To  hang  him  by  thrial — barrin'  sich  as  was  shot. 
There  was  trial  by  jury  goin'  on  by  daylight, 
And  the  martial  law  hangin'  the  lavins  by  night. 
It's  them  was  hard  times  for  an  honest  gossoon  ; 
If  he  missed  in  the  judges,  he'd  meet  a  dragoon  ; 
An'  whether  the  sojers  or  judges  gev  sentence. 
The  divil  a  much  time  they  allowed  for  repentance. 
An'  it's  many's  the  fine  boy  was  then  an  his  keepin', 
Wid  small  share  iv  restin',  or  atin',  or  sleepin'. 
An'  because  they  loved  Erin,  an'  scorned  to  sell  it, 
A  prey  for  the  bloodhound,  a  mark  for  the  bullet — 


ANONYMOUS.  ^  231 

Unsheltered  by  night  and  unrested  by  day, 

With  the  heath  for  their  barrack,  revenge  for  their  pay. 

An'  the  bravest  an'  hardiest  boy  iv  them  all. 

Was  Shamus  O'Brien,  from  the  town  iv  Glingall. 

His  limbs  were  well  set,  an'  his  body  was  light. 

An'  the  keen-fanged  hound  had  not  teeth  half  so  white ; 

But  his  face  was  as  pale  as  the  face  of  the  dead. 

An*  his  cheek  never  warmed  with  the  blush  of  the  red  : 

An'  for  all  that,  he  wasn't  an  ugly  young  bye. 

For  the  divil  himself  couldn't  blaze  with  his  eye, 

So  droll  an'  so  wicked,  so  dark  an'  so  bright. 

Like  a  fire-flash  that  crosses  the  depth  of  the  night ; 

An'  he  was  the  best  mower  that  ever  has  been, 

An'  the  illigantest  hurler  that  ever  was  seen  : 

In  fincin'  he  gev  Patrick  Mooney  a  cut. 

An'  in  jumpin'  he  bate  Tom  Malowney  a  fut ; 

For  lightness  iv  fut  there  was  not  his  peer, 

For,  by  gorra  !  he'd  almost  outrun  the  red  deer  ; 

An'  his  dancin'  was  sich,  that  the  men  used  to  stare. 

An'  the  women  turn  crazy,  he  done  it  so  quare  ; 

An',  by  gorra  !  the  whole  world  gev  into  him  there. 

An'  its  he  was  the  boy  that  was  hard  to  be  caught, 

An'  it's  often  he  run,  an'  it's  often  he  fought. 

An'  it's  many  the  one  can  remember  right  well 

The  quare  things  he  done,  an'  it's  oft  I  heerd  tell 

How  he  freckened  the  magisthrates  in  Cahirbally, 

An'  escaped  thro'  the  sojers  in  Aherloe  Valley, 

An'  leathered  the  yeomen,  himself  agin  four. 

An'  stretched  the  two  strongest  on  old  Galtimore. 

But  the  fox  must  sleep  sometimes,  the  wild  deer  mast  rest. 

An'  treachery  prey  on  the  blood  iv  the  best. 

After  many  a  brave  action  of  power  and  pride,  ~— 

An'  many  a  hard  night  on  the  mountain's  bleak  side. 

An'  a  thousand  great  dangers  and  toils  overpast. 

In  the  darkness  of  night  he  was  taken  at  last. 

Now,  Shamus,  look  back  on  the  beautiful  moon,         , 

For  the  door  of  the  prison  must  dose  on  you  soon  ; 

An'  take  your  last  look  at  her  dim  lovely  light. 

That  falls  on  the  mountain  and  valley  this  night ; — 

One  look  at  the  village,  one  look  at  the  flood. 

An'  one  at  the  sheltering,  far-distant  wood. 

Farewell  to  the  forest,  farewell  to  the  hill. 

An'  farewell  to  the  friends  that  will  think  of  you  still ; 

Farewell  to  the  pathern,  the  hurlin'  and  wake. 


232  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

An*  farewell  to  the  girl  that  would  die  for  your  sake. 
An*  twelve  sojers  brought  him  to  Maryborough  jail, 
An'  the  turnkey  resaved  him,  refusin'  all  bail.       .     ^^^ 


21.      THE    SAME. PART    SECOND. 

As  soon  as  a  few  weeks  was  over  and  gone. 

The  terrible  day  iv  thrial  kem  on. 

There  was  sich  a  crowd  there  was  scarce  room  to  stand. 

An*  sojers  on  guard,  an'  dhragoons  sword  in  hand  ; 

An'  the  court-house  so  full  that  the  people  were  bothered, 

An'  attorneys  an'  criers  on  the  pint  iv  bein'  smothered ; 

An'  counsellors  almost  gev  over  for  dead, 

An'  the  jury  sittin'  up  in  their  box  overhead  ; 

An'  the  judge  settled  out  so  detarmined  an'  big, 

With  his  gown  on  his  back,  an'  an  illigant  new  wig. 

An'  silence  was  called,  an'  the  minute  it  was  said, 

The  court  was  as  still  as  the  heart  of  the  dead. 

An'  they  heard  but  the  opening  of  one  prison  lock. 

An'  Shamus  O'Brien  kem  into  the  dock. 

For  one  minute  he  turned  his  eye  round  on  the  throng, 

An'  he  looked  at  the  bars,  so  firm  an'  so  strong, 

An'  he  saw  that  he  had  not  a  hope  nor  a  friend, 

A  chance  to  escape,  nor  a  word  to  defend  ; 

An'  he  folded  his  arms  as  he  stood  there  alone. 

As  calm  an'  as  cold  as  a  statue  of  stone  ; 

An*  they  read  a  big  writin',  a  yard  long,  at  laste. 

An'  Jim  didn't  undherstand  it  nor  mind  it  a  taste. 

An'  the  judge  took  a  big  pinch  iv  snuflf,  an'  he  says, 

"  Are  you  guilty  or  not,  Jim  O'Brien,  av  you  plase  ?'* 

An*  all  held  their  breath,  in  the  silence  of  dhread. 

An'  Shamus  O'Brien  made  answer  an'  said  : — 

"  My  lord,  if  you  ask  me  if  in  my  lifetime 

I  thought  any  treason,  or  did  any  crime 

That  should  call  to  my  cheek,  as  I  stand  alone  here. 

The  hot  blush  of  shame,  or  the  coldness  of  fear. 

Though  I  stood  by  the  grave  to  receive  my  death  blow, 

Before  God  and  the  world,  I  would  answer  you,  no ; 

But  if  you  would  ask  me,  as  I  think  it  like. 

If  in  the  rebelUon  I  carried  a  pike. 


ANONYMOtJS.  233 

An*  fought  for  ould  Ireland,  from  the  first  to  the  close, 

An'  shed  the  heart's  blood  of  her  bitterest  foes, — 

I  answer  you,  yes  ;  an'  I  tell  you  again. 

Though  I  stand  here  to  perish,  it's  my  glory  that  then 

In  her  cause  I  was  willing  my  veins  should  run  dhry. 

An*  that  now  for  her  sake  I  am  ready  to  die." 

Then  the  silence  was  great,  and  the  jury  smiled  bright. 

An'  the  judge  wasn't  sorry  the  job  was  made  light ; 

By  my  sowl,  it's  himself  was  the  crabbed  ould  chap  ! 

In  a  twinklin'  he  pulled  on  his  ugly  black  cap. 

Then  Shamus'  mother,  in  the  crowd  staiidin'  by. 

Called  out  to  the  judge,  with  a  pitiful  cry, 

**  Oh,  judge,  darlin',  don't ! — oh  !  don't  say  the  word  ! 

The  crathur  is  young — have  mercy,  my  lord ! 

He  was  foohsh — he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doin' : 

You  don't  know  him,  my  lord ; — oh  !  don't  give  him  to  ruin 

He's  the  kindliest  crathur,  the  tendherest  hearted  ; — 

Don't  part  us  forever,  we  that's  so  long  parted  1 

Judge,  mavourneen,  forgive  him — ^forgive  him,  my  lord. 

An'  God  will  forgive  you  : — oh  !  don't  say  the  word !" 

That  was  the  first  minute  that  O'Brien  was  shaken. 

When  he  saw  he  was  not  quite  forgot  or  forsaken  ; 

An'  down  his  pale  cheeks,  at  the  word  of  his  mother. 

The  big  tears  wor  running  fast,  one  afther  t'other. 

An'  two  or  three  times  he  endeavored  to  spake. 

But  the  sthrong  manly  voice  used  to  falther  an'  break ; 

But  at  last,  by  the  strength  of  his  high-mounting  pride. 

He  conquered  and  masthered  his  grief's  swelling  tide ; 

An'  says  he,  "  Mother,  darlint,  don't  break  your  poor  heart. 

For,  sooner  or  later,  the  dearest  must  part ; 

And,  God  knows,  it's  better  than  wandering  in  fear 

On  the  bleak,  trackless  mountain,  among  the  wild  deer. 

To  lie  in  the  graye,  where  the  head,  heart,  and  breast 

From  thought,  labor,  and  sorrow  forever  shall  rest. 

Then,  mother,  my  darlin',  don't  cry  any  more — 

Don't  make  me  seem  broken  in  this  my  last  hour  ; 

For  I  wish,  when  my  head's  lyin'  undher  the  raven, 

No  thrue  man  can  say  that  I  died  like  a  craven  !" 

Then,  towards  the  judge  Shamus  bent  down  his  head. 

An'  that  minute  the  solemn  death  sintence  was  said. 

ANONYMOUa, 


234  cojyno  and  amusing  selections. 


22.      THE  SAME. PART  THIRD. 

The  mornin'  was  bright,  an'  the  mists  rose  on  high, 
An'  the  lark  whistled  merrily  in  the  clear  sky — 
But  why  are  the  men  standin'  idle  so  late  ? 
An'  why  do  the  crowds  gather  fast  in  the  street  ? 
What  come  they  to  talk  of  ? — what  come  they  to  see  ? 
An'  why  does  the  long  rope  hang  from  the  cross  tree  ? 
Oh,  Shamus  O'Brien,  pray  fervent  and  fast, 
May  the  saints  take  your  soul,  for  this  day  is  your  last ; 
Pray  fast  and  pray  sthrong,  for  the  moment  is  nigh, 
When,  sthrong,  proud,  an'  great  as  you  are,  you  must  die. 
At  last  they  threw  open  the  big  prison  gate. 
An'  out  came  the  sheriflfs  and  sojers  in  state. 
An'  a  cart  in  the  middle,  an'  Shamus  was  in  it. 
Not  paler,  but  prouder  than  ever,  that  minute. 
An'  as  soon  as  the  people  saw  Shamus  O'Brien, 
Wid  prayin'  and  blessin',  an'  all  the  girls  cryin', 
A  wild  waihn'  sound  kem  on  all  by  degrees. 
Like  the  sound  of  the  lonesome  wind  blowin'  through  trees. 
On,  on,  to  the  gallows,  the  sheriflfs  are  gone. 
An'  the  cart  an'  the  sojers  go  steadily  on ; 
An'  at  every  side  swellin'  around  of  the  cart, 
A  wild,  sorrowful  sound,  that  id  open  your  heart. 
Now  under  the  gallows  the  cart  takes  its  stand, 
An'  the  hangman  gets  up  with  the  rope  in  his  hand ; 
An'  the  priest,  havin'  blessed  him,  goes  down  on  the  ground, 
An'  Shamus  O'Brien  throws  one  last  look  around. 
Then  the  hangman  drew  near,  an'  the  people  grew  still. 
Young  faces  turned  sickly,  and  warm  hearts  turn  chill ; 
An'  the  rope  bein'  ready,  his  neck  was  made  bare, 
For  the  gripe  iv  the  life-strangling  cord  to  prepare ; 
An'  the  good  priest  has  left  him,  havin'  said  his  last  prayer. 
But  the  good  priest  did  more — for  his  hands  he  unbound. 
And,  with  one  daring  spring,  Jim  has  leaped  on  the  ground. 
Bang,  bang  !  goes  the  carbines,  and  clash  goes  the  sabres  ; 
"  He's  not  down  !    he's  alive  still !    now  stand  to  him,  neigh- 
bors !" 
Through  the  smoke  and  the  horses,  he's  into  the  crowd  ; — 
**  By  the  heavens,  he's  free  !"  than  the  thunder  more  loud. 
By  one  shout  from  the  people  the  heavens  were  shaken, — 
One  shout  that  the  dead  of  the  world  might  awaken. 


.ANONYMOUS.  235 

Your  swords  they  may  glitter,  your  carbines  go  bang. 

But  if  you  want  hangin',  it's  yourself  you  must  bang ; 

To-night  he'll  be  sleepin'  in  Aherloe  Glin, 

An'  the  divil's  in  the  dice-  if  you  catch  him  agin. 

The  sojers  ran  this  way,  the  sheriffs  ran  that. 

An'  father  Malone  lost  his  new  Sunday  hat ; 

An'  the  sheriflfs  wor  both  of  them  punished  sevarely. 

An'  fined  like  the  divil,  because  Jim  done  them  fairly. 

A  week  after  dis  time,  widout  firing  a  cannon, 
A  sharp  Yankee  schooner  sailed  out  of  the  Shannon  ; 
An'  the  captain  left  word  he  was  goin'  to  Cork, 
But  the  divil  a  bit — he  was  bound  to  New  York. 
The  very  next  spring — a  bright  morning  in  May, — 
Just  six  months  after  the  "  great  hanging  day," — 
A  letter  was  brought  to  the  town  of  Kiidare, 
And  on  the  outside  was  written  out  fair — 
"  To  ould  Mrs.  O'Brien,  in  Ireland,  or  elsewhere." 
And  the  inside  began — "  My  dear  good  ould  mother, 
I'm  safe  and  am  happy — and  not  wishin'  to  bother 
You  in  the  radin'  (with  the  help  of  the  priest), 
I  send  you  inclosed  in  this  letter,  at  laist, 
Enuf  to  pay  him,  and  to  fetch  you  away 
To  this  *  land  of  the  free  and  brave,'  Amerika. 
Here  you'll  be  happy,  and  never  nade  cryin'. 
So  long  as  5'^ou're  mother  of  Shamiis  O'Brien. 
Give  my  love  to  swate  Biddy,  and  tell  her  beware  * 
Of  that  spalpeen  who  calls  himself  *  Lord  of  Kiidare  ;' 
And  just  say  to  the  judge,  I  don't  now  care  a  rap 
For  him,  or  his  wig,  or  his  dirty  black  cap. 
And  as  for  dragoons,  them  paid  men  of  slaughter. 
Say  I  love  them  as  the  divil  loves  holy  water. 
And  now,  my  good  mother,  one  word  of  advice : 
Fill  your  bag  with  potatoes,  and  whiskey,  and  rice ; 
And  when  ye  start  from  ould  Ireland,  take  passage  at  Cork, 
And  come  strate  over  to  the  town  of  New  York ; 
And  there  ax  the  Mayor  the  best  way  to  go 
To  the  state  of  Sinsnaty — ^in  the  town  of  Ohio  ; 
For  'tis  dare  you  will  find  me,  widout  much  tryin'. 
At  *  The  Harp  and  the  Eagle,'  kept  by  Shamus  O'Brien." 

Anonymous, 


236  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 


23.      THE  RHYMING  APOTHECARY. 

A  MEMBER  of  the  ^sculapian  line 
Lived  at  Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; 
No  man  could  better  gild  a  pill, 

Or  make  a  bill ; 
Or  mix  a  draught,  or  bleed,  or  blister ; 
Or  draw  a  tooth  out  of  your  head  ; 
Or  chatter  scandal  by  your  bed  ; 

Or  spread  a  plaster. 

His  fame  full  six  miles  round  the  country  ran ; 

In  short,  in  reputation  he  was  solus  ; 
All  the  women  called  him  "  a  fine  man  !" 

His  name  was  Bolus. 

Benjamin  Bolus,  though  in  trade 

(Which,  oftentimes,  will  genius  fetter), 
Read  works  of  fancy,  it  is  said  ; 

And  cultivated  the  belles-lettres. 
And  why  should  this  be  thought  so  odd  ? 

Can't  men  have  taste,  who  cure  a  phthisic  ? 
Of  poetry  though  patron  god, 

Apollo  patronizes  physic. 
Bolus  loved  verse,  and  took  so  much  dehght  in't, 
That  his  prescriptions  he  resolved  to  write  in't» 

No  opportunity  he  e'er  let  pass. 

Of  writing  the  directions  on  his  labels. 
In  dapper  couplets — like  Gay's  Fables  ; 

Or,  rather  like  the  lines  in  Hudibras. 

Apothecary's  verse  ! — and  where 's  the  treason  ? 

'Tis  simple  honest  dealing — not  a  crime  ; 
When  patients  swallow  physic  without  reason, 

It  is  but  fair  to  give  a  httle  rhyme. 

He  had  a  patient,  lying  at  death's  door. 
Some  three  miles  from  the  town, — it  might  be  fowr-,- 
To  whom,  one  evening,  Bolus  sent  an  article. 
In  pharmacy,  that's  called  cathartical. 
And  on  the  label  of  the  stuff 
He  wrote  verse ; 


COLMAN.  237 

Which,  one  would  think,  was  clear  enough, 
And  terse  "i 
"  When  taken. 
To  be  well  shaken." 

Early  next  morning,  Bolus  rose. 
And  to  his  patient's  house  he  goes, 

Upon  his  pad, 
Which  a  vile  trick  of  stumbling  had : 
It  was,  indeed,  a  very  sorry  hack ; — 

But,  that's  of  course ; 

For,  what's  expected  from  a  horse. 
With  an  apothecary  on  his  back  ? 
Bolus  arrived,  and  gave  a  loudish  tap, 
Between  a  single  and  a  double  rap. 

Knocks  of  this  kind, 

Are  given  by  gentlemen,  who  teach  to  dance ; 

By  fiddlers  and  by  opera  singers ; 
One  loud,  and  then  a  little  one  behind. 
As  if  the  knocker  fell  by  chance 

Out  of  their  fingers. 

The  servant  lets  him  in  with  dismal  face, 
Long  as  a  courtier's  out  of  place — 

Portending  some  disaster ; 
John*s  countenance  as  rueful  looked  and  grim. 
As  if  th'  apothecary  had  physicked  him. 

And  not  his  master. 

"  Well,  how's  the  patient  ?"  Bolus  said : 

John  shook  his  head. 
"  Indeed ! — ^hum ! — ^ha ! — that's  very  odd ! 
He  took  the  draught  ?"  John  gave  a  nod. 
"  Well,  how  ? — ^what  then  ?  Speak  out,  you  dunce !" 
"  Why,  then,"  says  John,  "  we  shook  him  once." 
"  Shook  him !  how  ?"  Bolus  stammered  out. 

"  We  jolted  him  about." 
"  Zounds !  shake  a  patient,  man ! — a  shake  won't  do.'* 
**  No,  sir,  and  so  we  gave  him  two." 
*'  Two  shakes ! — odds  curse ! 
'T would  make  the  patient  worse." 
"  It  did  so,  sir,  and  so  a  third  we  tried." 
"  Well,  and  what  then  ?" — "  Then,  sir,  my  master  died." 

COLMAN. 


238  COMIC  AND  AMUSmG  SELECTIONS. 

24.      BROWN  STOUT. 

A  BREWER,  in  a  country  town, 

Had  got  a  monstrous  reputation  ! 
No  other  beer  than  his  went  down, — 

The  Hosts  of  the  surrounding  station 
Carving  his  name  upon  their  mugs, 

And  painting  it  on  every  shujiter  ; 

And  though  some  envious  folks  would  utter 
Hints,  that  its  flavor  came  from  drugs, 
Others  maintained  'twas  no  such  matter. 

But,  owing  to  his  monstrous  vat, — 

As  corpulent,  at  least,  as  that 
At  Heidelberg — and  some,  say  fatter. 

His  foreman  was  a  lusty  black. 

An  honest  fellow ; 
But  one  that  had  an  ugly  knack 
Of  tasting  samples,  as  he  brewed, 

Till  he  was  stupefied  and  mellow. 
One  day,  in  this  top-heavy  mood. 

Having  to  cross  the  vat  aforesaid 
(Just  then  with  boiling  beer  suppHed), 

O'ercome  with  giddiness  and  qualms,  he 
Reeled — fell  in — and  nothing  more  said, 
But  in  his  favorite  liquor  died. 

Like  Clarence  in  his  butt  of  Malmsey. 

In  all  directions  round  about, 
The  negro  absentee  was  sought, 
But,  as  no  human  noddle  thought 

That  our  fat  black  was  made  brown  stout, 
They  settled  that  the  negro  left 
The  place  for  debt,  or  crime,  or  theft. 

Meanwhile,  the  beer  was  day  by  day 

Drawn  into  casks  and  sent  away. 

Until  the  lees  flowed  thick  and  thicker. 

When,  lo  !  outstretched  upon  the  ground. 

Once  more  their  missing  friend  they  found. 
As  they'd  oft  done  before, — in  liquor ! 

"  See,"  cried  his  moralizing  master, 

"  I  knew  the  fellow  always  drank  hard, 
And  prophesied  some  sad  disaster. 


AITONYMOUS.  239 

His  fate  should  often  tipplers  strike. 
Poor  Mungo  !  tliere  he  welters  like 
A  toast  at  bottom  of  a  tankard  !" 

Next  morn,  a  Pubhcan  whose  tap 

Had  helped  to  drain  the  vat  so  dry, 
Not  having  heard  of  the  mishap, 

Came  to  demand  a  fresh  supply ; 
Protesting  loudly  that  the  last 
All  previous  specimens  surpassed — 
Possessing  a  much  richer  gusto. 
Than  formerly  it  ever  used  to ; 
And  begging,  as  a  special  favor. 
More  of  exactly  the  same  flavor. 

"  Zounds  !"  cried  the  brewer,  "  that's  a  task 

More  difficult  to  grant,  than  ask  ! 
Most  gladly  would  I  give  the  smack 

Of  the  last  beer  to  the  ensuing ; 
But,  where  am  I  to  find  a  black 

To  be  boiled  down  at  every  brewing  ?'* 

ANONTMOU& 


25.      THE  FARMER  S  BLUNDER. 

A  FARMER  once  to  London  went. 
To  pay  the  worthy  squire  his  rent. 
He  comes,  he  knocks,  soon  entrance  gains, — 
Who  at  the  door  such  guests  detains  ? 
Forth  struts  the  squire,  exceeding  smart — 
"  Farmer,  you're  welcome  to  my  heart ; 
You've  brought  my  rent  then — to  a  hair ! 
The  best  of  tenants,  I  declare  !" 
The  steward's  called,  the  account's  made  even, 
The  money  paid,  the  receipt  was  given ; 
"Well,"  said  the  squire,  "now,  you  shall  stay. 
And  dine  with  me,  old  friend,  to-day ; 
I've  here  some  ladies  wondrous  pretty. 
And  pleasant  sparks,  too,  who  will  fit  ye." 
Hob  scratched  his  ears,  and  held  his  hat, 
And  said — "  No,  zur,  two  words  to  that ; 
For  look,  d'ye  zee,  when  I'ze  to  dine 
With  gentlefolks  zo  cruel  fine, 


240  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

I'ze  use  to  make,- — and  'tis  no  wonder, — 
In  word  or  deed,  some  plaguy  blunder ; 
Zo,  if  your  honor  will  permit, 
I'll  with  your  zarvants  pick  a  bit." 
"  Poh !"  says  the  squire,  "  it  shan't  be  done," 
And  to  the  parlor  pushed  him  on. 
To  all  around  he  nods  and  scrapes, 
Not  waiting-maid  or  butler  'scapes  ; 
'     With  often  bidding  takes  his  seat,    ' 
But  at  a  distance  mighty  great. 
Though  often  asked  to  draw  his  chair, 
He  nods,  nor  comes  an  inch  more  near. 
By  madam  served  with  body  bended. 
With  knife  and  fork,  and  arms  extended, 
He  reached  as  far  as  he  was  able. 
To  plate  that  overhung  the  table ; 
With  little  morsels  cheats  his  chops. 
And  in  the  passage  some  he  drops. 
To  show  where  most  his  heart  inclined, 
He  talked  and  drank  to  John  behind.  ^  ^ 

When  drank  to  in  a  modish  way,  / 

"  Your  love's  sufficient,  zur,"  he'd  say ; 
And  to  be  thought  a  man  of  mannerg, 
Still  rose  to  make  his  awkward  honors. 
"  Tush,"  says  the  squire,  "  pray  keep  your  sitting," 
"  No,  no,"  he  cries,  "  zur,  'tis  not  fitting ; 
Though  I'm  no  scholar,  versed  in  letters, 
I  knaws  my  duty  to  my  betters." 
Much  mirth  the  farmer's  ways  aflford. 
And  hearty  laughs  went  round  the  board. 
Thus,  the  first  course  was  ended  well. 
But,  at  the  next — Ah  !  what  befell  ? 
The  dishes  were  now  timely  placed. 
And  table  with  fresh  luxury  graced. 
When  drank  to  by  a  neighboring  charmer. 
Up  as  usual  starts  the  farmer. 
A  wag,  to  carry  on  the  joke. 
Thus  to  his  servant  softly  spoke : — 
"  Come  hither  Dick,  step  gently  there. 
And  pull  away  the  farmer's  chair." 
'Tis  done  :  his  congee  made,  the  clown 
Draws  back,  and  stoops  to  sit  him  down ; 
But,  by  posteriors  overweighed. 
And  of  his  trusty  seat  betrayed, 


,      ANONYMOUS. — ^JOEL  BAKLOW.  241 

As  men,  at  twigs,  in  rivers  sprawling, 

He  caught  the  cloth  to  save  his  falling ; 

In  vain,  sad  fortune,  down  he  wallowed, 

And  rattling,  all  the  dishes  followed ! 

The  fops  soon  lost  their  httle  wits. 

The  ladies  squalled,  some  fell  in  fits ; 

Here  tumbled  turkeys,  tarts,  and  widgeons. 

And  there,  minced  pies,  and  geese,  and  pigeons. 

Lord !  what  ado  'twixt  belles  and  beaux, 

Some  curse,  some  cry,  and  rub  their  clothes ! 

This  lady  raves,  and  that  looks  down. 

And  weeps  and  wails  her  spattered  gOAvn. 

One  spark  bemoans  his  greased  waistcoat ; 

One,  "  Rot  him,  he  has  spoiled  my  laced  coat  !** 

Amidst  the  rout,«the  farmer,  long 

Some  pudding  sucked,  and  held  his  tongue ; 

At  length  he  gets  him  on  his  breech. 

And  scrambles  up  to  make  his  speech ; 

First  rubs  his  eyes,  mouth,  nostrils  twangs. 

Then  snaps  his  fingers,  and  harangues : 

"  Plague  tak't,  Ize  tell  you  how'd  'twould  be ; 

Look,  here's  a  pickle,  zurs,  d'ye  see  — " 

"  Peace,  brute,  begone  !"  the  ladies  cry : 

The  beaux  exclaim,  "  Fly,  rascal,  fly  !" 

*'  I'll  tear  his  eyes  out !"  squeaks  Miss  Dolly ; 

"  I'll  pink  his  soul  out !"  roars  a  bully. 

At  this,  the  farmer  shrinks  with  fear, 

And  thinking  'twas  ill  tarrying  here. 

Runs  olOf,  and  cries,  "  Ay,  kill  me  then, 

Whene'er  you  catch  me  here  again."  ANONYMoua. 


26.      HASTY  PUDDING. 

Ye  Alps  audacious,  through  the  heavens  that  rise. 
To  cramp  the  day  and  hide  me  from  the  skies ; 
Ye  Gallic  flags,  that,  o'er  their  heights  unfurled, 
Bear  death  to  kings  and  freedom  to  the  world, 
I  sing  not  you.     A  softer  theme  I  choose, 
A  virgin  theme,  unconscious  of  the  Muse, 
But  fruitful,  rich,  well  suited  to  inspire 
The  purest  phrensy  of  poetic  fire. 
11 


242  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

Despise  it  not,  ye  bards  to  terror  steeled. 
Who  hurl  your  thunders  round  the  epic  field  ; 
Nor  ye  who  strain  your  midnight  throats  to  sing 
Joys  that  the  vineyard  and  the  still-house  bring  ; 
Or  on  some  distant  fair  your  notes  employ. 
And  speak  of  raptures  that  you  ne'er  enjoy. 
I  sing  the  sweets  I  know,  the  charms  I  feel. 
My  morning  incense,  and  my  evening  meal. 
The  sweets  of  Hasty  Pudding.     Come,  dear  bowl. 
Glide  o'er  my  palate,  and  inspire  my  soul. 
The  milk  beside  thee,  smoking  from  the  kine. 
Its  substance  mingled,  married  in  with  thine. 
Shall  cool  and  temper  thy  superior  heat, 
And  save  the  pains  of  blowing  while  I  eat. 

Thee,  the  soft  nations  round  the  warm  Levant, 

Polanta  call ;  the  French,  of  course,  Polante. 

E'en  in  thy  native  regions,  how  I  blush 

To  hear  the  Pennsylvanians  call  thee  Mush  ! 

On  Hudson's  banks,  while  men  of  Belgic  spawn. 

Insult  and  eat  thee  by  the  name  Suppawn. 

All  spurious  appellations,  void  of  truth  : 

I've  better  known  thee  from  my  earliest  youth  : 

Thy  name  is  Hasty  Pudding  !  thus  our  sires 

Were  wont  to  greet  thee  fuming  from  the  fires  ; 

And  while  they  argued  in  thy  just  defence. 

With  logic  clear,  they  thus  explained  the  sense  : 

"  In  haste  the  boiling  cauldron,  o'er  the  blaze. 

Receives  and  cooks  the  ready  powdered  maize ; 

In  Jiaste  'tis  served,  and  then  in  equal  haste, 

With  cooling  milk  we  eat  the  sweet  repast. 

Ko  carving  to  be  done,  no  knife  to  grate 

The  tender  ear,  and  wound  the  stony  plate ; 

But  the  smooth  spoon,  just  fitted  to  the  lip. 

And  taught  with  art  the  yielding  mass  to  dip. 

By  frequent  journeys  to  the  bowl  well  stored. 

Performs  the  hasty  honors  of  the  board." 

Such  is  thy  name,  significant  and  clear, 

A  name,  a  sound  to  every  Yankee  dear, 

But  most  to  me,  whose  heart  and  palate  chaste. 

Preserve  my  pure,  hereditary  taste.  j^^.^^  Bablow. 


LIVEEPOOL  NEWSPAPEK.  243 


27.      SONG  OF  THE  SPEAKER. 

With  patience  weary  and  worn. 

With  eyelids  heavy  as  lead. 
The  Speaker  sat  in  his  chair  of  state, 

Nodding  his  drowsy  head  ; 

And  whilst  the  dull  debate 

Maintained  its  sluggish  reign, 
The  dubious  doze,  which  refuses  repose, 

Suggested  these  thoughts  to  his  brain. 

"  Talk— talk— talk ! 
Whilst  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof, 

And  talk— talk— talk  ! 
Till  the  stars  shine  on  the  roof ; 

It's  oh  to  be  the  slave. 

The  *  Infidel  dog'  of  the  Turk, 
Rather  than  sit  to  superintend 

This  sham  senatorial  work  ! 

"  Talk— talk— talk  ! 

The  rattle  never  flags  ; 
And  what  are  its  products  ?     Little,  alas. 

But  rhetoric's  wretched  rags  ! 

A  shattered  joke,  or  a  naked  lie. 

Of  candor's  cant  a  store. 
And  a  whole  so  blank,  that  sleep  I  thank. 

If  it  cast  its  shadow  o'er. 

"Talk— talk— talk! 
From  weary  chime  to  chime  ; 

And  talk— talk— talk  ! 
As  if  silence  were  a  crime — 

*  Oh,'  and  *  Order,'  and  '  Hear,' 

'  Hear,'  and  *  Order,'  and  '  Oh'— 
Till  every  sense  is  as  drowsy  and  dense 

As  the  eye  that  hath  lost  its  glow. 

"  Talk— talk— talk ! " 
In  the  dull  and  heavy  night. 

And  talk— talk— talk  ! 
When  the  sun  is  warm  and  bright ; 

'Tis  ever  a  winter  to  me. 

No  change  the  seasons  bring. 


244:  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

And  Nature  gay,  in  her  bridal  array, 
But  twits  me  with  the  spring. 

"  Oh,  but  for  one  short  hour, 

A  respite,  however  brief. 
From  these  uttered  nothings,  that  should  fill 

The  statesman's  mind  with  grief ! 
A  little  more  work,  a  little  less  talk. 

Might  ease  the  common  fate  ; 
But  the  country's  smart  never  touches  the  heart 

Of  the  Moloch  of  Debate." 

With  patience  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  as  lead. 
The  Speaker  sat  in  his  chair  of  state, 

Nodding  his  drowsy  head  ; 

And  whilst  the  dull  debate 

Maintained  its  sluggish  reign, 
The  dubious  doze,  which  refuses  repose — 
Which  deadens,  oft  only  to  deepen,  our  woes — 

Suggested  these  thoughts  to  his  brain. 

LiVEEPOOL  Newspaper 


28.     EDITORIAL  MUSINGS. 

An  editor  sat  on  a  lofty  stool, 

A  very  long  pen  was  stuck  in  his  ear  : 
Before  him  productions  from  rogue  and  fool. 

In  hieroglyphics  not  over  clear. 
He  opened  one,  and  he  opened  all. 

More  hke  a  machine  than  a  man 
(How  imperturbable  editors  are  !) 

And  thus  the  medley  ran  : — 

"  Are  you  for  taking  the  duty  off  tea  ?" 

"  What's  the  age  of  the  Pope  ?" 
"  When  will  the  next  Good  Friday  be  ?" 

"  Are  you  pretty  well  off  for  soap  V* 
"  Oblige  by  stating  the  longest  night." 

"Did  Shelley  make  a  will  ?" 
"  Misther  Heedetur,  sur,  who  von  the  fight. 

The  Nobbier  or  Brummagem  Bill  ?" 


GEORaETOWN  ROYAL  GAZETTE — J.  T.  FIELDS.  245 

"  Is  bone-dust  really  made  into  bread  ?" 

"  Are  the  Jumpers  increasing  in  Wales  ?" 
**  Where  is  it  that  angels  fear  to  tread  ?" 

"  Have  you  tried  the  patent  scales  ?" 
**  What  color  was  Polyphemus's  eye  V* 

"  Was  the  great  Alexander  a  Spartan  ?" 
**  When  may  an  oyster  be  said  to  die  ?" 

"  Who's  the  oft-mentioned  Betty  Martin  ?" 

Now  entered  the  oflSce  an  inky  youth, 

A  mass  of  most  picturesque  splashing, 
'Twould  have  done  him  good,  a  dive  after  truth. 

If  but  for  the  sake  of  the  washing. 
Awaiting  the  editor's  orders  he  stood  ! 

No  emotion  his  tattooed  face  tinted ; 
Comets  and  corns  were  the  same  to  him — 

He  did  not  care  what  was  printed. 

The  editor  handed  the  boy  a  list 

That  would  cover  a  drawing-room  floor, 
And  said,  "  Just  insert  these  initials  and  say, 

We  have  answered  these  questions  before." 
Then  he  savagely  fell  to  biting  his  pen 

(An  unsatisfactory  ration), 
And  said  to  the  boy,  "  You  can  state  again 

The  amount  of  our  circulation." 

The  editor  sat  on  his  lofty  stool. 

Before  him  a  sheet  of  foolscap  lay ; 
So  many  subjects  claimed  his  pen. 

That  he  doubted  what  to  say. 
On  a  sudden  he  thought  of  the  starving  Avorld, 

And  advised  a  plan  to  feed  her  : 
He  dashed  his  pen  in  the  pliant  ink 

Buy  iht  paper,  and  study  the  "  leader." 

Geougetown  Royal  Qazettb 


29.      THE  ALARMED  SKIPPER. 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 

Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  though  "  lying  low," 

How  near  New*York  their  schooners  ran. 


M6  come  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

They  greased  the  kad  before  it  fell, 

And  then,  by  sounding  through  the  night. 

Knowing  the  soil  that  stuck,  so  well. 

They  always  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim. 

Could  tell,  by  tasting,  just  the  spot. 
And  so  below  he'd  "  dowse  the  glim" — 

After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hot." 

Snug  in  his  berth,  at  eight  o'clock. 
This  ancient  skipper  might  be  found ; 

No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock. 
He  slept — for  skippers'  naps  are  sound  ! 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
Run  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead ; 

He'd  up,  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

One  night,  'twas  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 

A  curious  wag — the  peddler's  son  ; 
And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretch), 

"  To-night  I'll  have  a  grain  of  fun. 

**  We're  all  a  set  of  stupid  fools 

To  think  the  skipper  knows  by  tasting 

What  ground  he's  on :  Nantucket  schools 

Don't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  basting  !** 

And  so  he  took  the  well-greased  lead. 

And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 
That  stood  on  deck — (a  parsnip  bed) — 

And  then  he  sought  the  skipper's  berth. 

"  Where  are  we  now,  sir  ?     Please  to  taste." 
The  skipper  yawned,  put  out  his  tongue. 

Then  oped  his  eyes  in  wondrous  haste. 
And  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung  ! 

The  skipper  stormed,  and  tore  his  hair. 

Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Harden — 

"  Nantucket's  sunk,  and  here  we  are 

Right  over  old  Harm  Hackett's  garden !" 

J.  T.  FiELDa 


HUGH  PETEES.  24:7 


30.      A  YANKEE  LYRIC. 


There  is,  in  famous  Yankee  land, 
A  class  of  men  yclept  tin-peddlers, 
A  shrewd,  sarcastic  band 
Of  busy  meddlers : 
They  scour  the  country  through  and  through. 
Vending  their  wares,  tin  pots,  tin  pans, 
Tin  ovens,  dippers,  wash-bowls,  cans. 
Tin  whistles,  kettles,  or  to  boil  or  stew. 
Tin  cullenders,  tin  nutmeg-graters. 
Tin  warming-platters  for  your  fish  and  'taters  ! 
In  short. 
If  you  will  look  within 

His  cart. 
And  gaze  upon  the  tin 
Which  glitters  there. 
So  bright  and  fair. 
There  is  no  danger  in  defying 
You  to  go  off  without  buying. 

One  of  these  cunning,  keen-eyed  gentry 
Stopped  at  a  tavern  in  the  country, 
Just  before  night. 
And  called  for  bitters  for  himself,  of  course. 
And  fodder  for  his  horse  : 

This  done,  our  worthy  wight 
Informed  the  landlord  that  his  purse  was  low. 
Quite  empty,  I  assure  you,  su*,  and  so 
I  wish  you'd  take  your  pay 
In  something  in  my  way. 

Now  Boniface  supposed  himself  a  wag — 
And  when  he  saw  that  he  was  sucked, 
Was  not  dispirited,  but  plucked 
Up  courage  and  his  trowsers  too  ! 
Quoth  he  t'  himself,  I  am  not  apt  to  brag, 
'Tis  true, 
But  I  can  stick  a  feather  in  my  cap 
By  making  fun  of  this  same  Yankee  chap, 
*'  Well,  my  good  friend. 
That  we  may  end 
This  troublesome  affair, 


248  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

I'll  take  my  pay  in  ware, 
Provided  that  you've  got  what  suits 
My  inclination." 
•*No  doubt  of  that,"  the  peddler  cri(;d. 
Sans  hesitation : 
"  Well,  bring  us  in  a  pair  of  good  tin  boots  !*' 
"  Tin  boots  f"  Our  Jonathan  espied 
His  landlord's  spindle  shanks. 
And  giving  his  good  Genius  thanks 

For  the  suggestion. 
Ran  out,  returned,  and  then — "  By  goles  ! 
.     Yes,  hete's  a  pair  of  candle-moulds  ! 
They'll  fit  you  Avithout  question !" 

Hugh  Peteb& 


31,      VILLAGE  GRExVTNESS. 

In  every  country  village,  where 
Ten  chimney  smokes  pprfurae  the  air. 

Contiguous  to  a  steeple, 
Great  gentlefolks  are  found,  a  score. 
Who  can't  associate  any  more 

With  common  "country  people." 

Jack  Fallow,  born  amongst  the  woods. 
From  rolUng  logs,  now  rolls  in  goods. 

Enough  a  while  to  dash  on ; 
Tells  negro  stories— smokes  cigars — 
Talks  politics — decides  on  wars — 

And  lives  in  stylish  fashion. 

Tim  Oxgoad,  lately  from  the  plough, 
A  polished  gentleman  is  now. 

And  talks  about  "country  fellows  ;'* 
But  ask  the  fop  what  books  he's  read. 
You'll  find  the  brain-pan  of  his  head 

As  empty  as  a  bellows. 

Miss  Faddle,  lately  from  the  v/heel. 
Begins  quite  lady-like  to  feel, 
And  talks  affectedly  genteel. 


,  WILLIAM  EAY. — ALBERT  G.  GREENE.      .  24:9 

And  sings  some  tasty  songs,  too ; 
But,  my  veracity  impeach. 
If  she  can  tell  what  part  of  speech 

Gentility  belongs  to. 

Without  one  spark  of  wit  refined — 
Without  one  beauty  of  the  mind — 

Genius  or  education, — 
Or  family  or  fame  to  boast ; — 
To  see  such  gentry  rule  the  roast,  , 

Turns  patience  to  vexation. 

To  clear  such  rubbish  from  the  earth, — 
Though  real  genius,  mental  worth. 

And  science  do  attend  you, — 
You  might  as  well  the  sty  refine, 
Or  cast  your  pearls  before  the  swine ; 

They'd  only  turn  and  rend  you.      ^^^^^^  ^^^ 


32.      OLD  GRIMES. 

Old  Grimes  is  dead  ;  that  good  old  man 

We  never  shall  see  more  ; 
He  used  to  wear  a  long  black  coat, 

All  buttoned  down  before. 

His  heart  was  open  as  the  day. 

His  feelings  all  were  true  ; 
His  hair  was  some  inclined  to  gray — 

He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

Whene'er  he  heard  the  voice  of  pain. 
His  breast  with  pity  burned  ; 

The  large  round  head  upon  his  cane 
From  ivory  was  turned. 

Kind  words  he  ever  had  for  all ; 

He  knew  no  base  design  : 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  small, 

His  nose  was  aquiline. 


250  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind ; 

In  friendship  he  was  true  ; 
His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind. 

His  pantaloons  were  blue. 

Unharmed,  the  sin  which  earth  pollutes 

He  passed  securely  o'er ; 
And  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest. 

Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown  : 
He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest — 

The  stripes  ran  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find. 

And  pay  it  its  desert ; 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind, 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbors  he  did  not  abuse — 

"Was  sociable  and  gay  : 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes, 

And  changed  them  every  day. 

His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze. 

He  did  not  bring  to  view. 
Nor  make  a  noise,  town-meeting  days. 

As  many  people  do.  ^ 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 

In  trust  to  Fortune's  chances  ; 
But  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 

In  easy  circumstances. 

Thus  undisturbed  by  anxious  cares. 

His  peaceful  moments  ran. 
And  every  body  said  he  was 

A  fine  old  gentleman.  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^ 


,      .  SAKA  J.  CLARKE.  251 

33.     THE  POET. 
(A  parody  on  Marco  Bozzaris.) 

At  midnight,  in  his  cottage  small, 

The  bard  was  dreaming  of  the  times 
When  cheerily  from  camp  and  hall 

Rang  out  the  minstrel's  rhymes  ! 
In  dreams  through  courtly  scenes  he  roved, 
In  dreams  a  royal  mistress  loved. 

In  dreams  he  clasped  her  as  his  brides- 
Then  revelled  at  the  board  of  kings, 
Bedecked  with  ribbons,  stars,  and  rings ; 
And  ever  woke  his  harp's  wild  strings 

To  notes  of  joy  and  pride  ! 

At  midnight,  in  the  court  beneath. 

The  sheriflf  ranged  a  savage  band. 
Following  their  game  up  to  the  death 

With  murderous  notes  of  hand ! 
There  was  the  draper,  trim  and  neat. 
There  was  the  burly  man  of  meat. 

Landlord,  and  tailors  four, — 
Bound  on  an  errand  all  unblest. 
Like  envious  cranes  met  to  molest. 
With  their  long  bills,  a  skylark's  nest, 

They  thronged  the  poet's  door  ! 

An  hour  passed  on.     The  bard  awoke,— 

That  poet-dream  was  past ! 
He  wakened  to  a  cry  of  fear — 
Of  "  Hide,  dear  Tom,  the  sheriff's  here !" 
He  woke  to  find  himself  safe  hid 
Beneath  a  meal  chest's  friendly  lid ! 

To  mutter  sacres  fierce  and  fast. 
On  baffled  foes  that  round  him  crowd, — 
And  hear,  in  accents  sharp  and  loud. 

The  sheriff  cheer  his  band ! 
Search  !  till  each  closet  is  explored — 
Search  !  landlord,  for  thy  bill  of  board ! 
Search  for  the  wines  against  him  scored— •■ 

And,  tailors,  lend  a  hand ! 

They  sought  like  Shylocks,  long  and  hard, 

Around,  beneath,  and  overhead ; 
But  vainly  all — they  left  the  bard 

Snug  in  his  mealy  bed  ! 


252  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

Then  his  indignant  Susan  saw 
Those  shameless  wreckers  of  the  law 

Had  nabbed  his  Sunday  coat  I 
She  saw  the  fearful  look  he  wore. 
As  then  and  there  he  roundly  swore 
To  leave  his  thankless  native  shore, 

Upon  that  morning's  boat !  g^^^  j^  ^lauhc 


34.    THE  world's  a  stage. 

(Mrs.  PartingtoD's  "  Seven  Ages.") 

All  the  world's  a  stage. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  passengers ; 
They  have  their  axes  and  their  entry  ways. 
And  one  man  keeps  time  and  plays  his  part, 
And  all  the  axes  have  seven  edges.     First  the  baby. 
Mewling,  &c,  in  its  nurse's  arras ; 
And  then  the  winning  school-boy  with  his  scratchawl. 
And  shiny  mourning  face,  running  like  a  snail 
Unwittingly  to  school ;  then  the  lover, 
Sighing  like  a  foundry  with  an  awful  bandage 
Made  for  his  mistress'  eyebrows ;  then  the  soldier, 
Full  of  strangle  oaths,  and  bearded  like  a  pardner. 
Zealous  in  horror,  scrubbing  a  stick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  blubber  refutation 
Into  the  cannon  mouth  ;  then  a  justice  of  the  peace 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  apron  lined ; 
His  eyes  so  sore  and  beard  of  normal  cut, 
Full  of  old  handsaws  and  modern  mischances  ; 
And  so  he  brays  his  part ;  the  sixth  edge  shimmies 
Into  the  lean  and  slippery  pair  of  pantaloons 
With  youthful  hoes,  well  shaved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  crook  shank ;  and  his  big  homely  voice, 
Turning  a  grain  toward  hardish  pebble,  pipes 
And  mizzles  in  his  sound  ;  and  last  of  all 
That  ends  this  s^j^ained  repentful  history. 
Is  second  childishness  and  mere  pavilion, 
Sands*  teeth.  Sands'  eyes,  Sands'  tasting,  Sands*  Sarsapanllal 

Anonymous* 


DOW,  JE. 


35.     IMPROVEMENT. 


253 


Mv  DEAR  FRIENDS,  I  mean  to  speak  of  the  spirit  of  improve- 
ment in  general  terms,  as  relating  to  enlightenment,  the  ad- 
vancement of  knowledge  and  progress  in  the  arts  and  sciences. 
in  this  respect,  it  is  like  the  rolling  avalanche,  that  leaves  de- 
tached portions  of  its  bulk  by  the  way,  and  yet  keeps  augment- 
ing in  its  circumvolutionary  course.  Hardy  Enterprise  first  goes 
forward  as  a  pioneer  in  the  untracked  wilderness,  and  commen- 
ces fight  with  the  mighty  trees  of  the  forest,  cutting  them  off, 
some  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  others  in  a  green  old  age,  and 
compelling  them  to  spill  their  sap  upon  their  country's  soil. 
Then  walks  Agriculture  into  them  'ere  diggins,  with  spade, 
harrow,  and  hoe,  and  scatters  the  seed  of  promise  hither  and 
thither,  assuring  the  hopeful  settler  that  his  children's  children 
shall  sop  their  hard-earned  crumbs  in  the  real  gravy  of  the  land. 
The  handmaid  Art  then  comes  forward,  erects  edifices  of  splen- 
dor, and  leaves  her  ornaments  of  skill  on  every  side — builds 
studios  for  the  scholars  of  science,  and  throws  facilities  in  their 
way  for  increasing  their  wisdom,  or  for  making  egregious  fools 
of  themselves. 

Such,  my  hearers,  is  the  spirit  of  improvement.  Like  the 
overflowing  of  a  stream  that  covers  and  enriches  the  valley,  it 
betters  the  natural  and  social  condition  of  man,  opens  wide  the 
avenues  to  the  temple  of  reason,  and  "expands  the  young  buds 
of  prosperity.  Brush  away  the  fog  of  a  couple  of  centuries, 
and  take  a  look  at  this,  our  native  land,  as  it  then  appeared. 
Here,  upon  the  Atlantic  shore,  the  scream  of  the  panther  arose 
on  the  midnight  air  with  the  savage  war-whoop,  and  the  pale- 
faced  pilgrim  trembled  for  the  safety  of  his  defenceless  home. 
He  planted  his  beans  in  fear  and  gathered  them  in  trouble  ;  his 
chickens  and  his  children  were  plundered  by  the  foe,  and  fife  it- 
self was  in  danger  of  leaking  out  from  between  the  logs  of  his 
hut,  even  if  it  w^ere  fortified  with  three  muskets,  a  spunky  wife, 
and  a  jug  of  whiskey.  Yes,  my  friends,  this  was  then  a  wild, 
gloomy,  and  desolate  place.  Where  the  Indian  squaw  hung  her 
young  pappoose  upon  the  bough  and  left  it  to  squall  at  the  hush- 
a-by  of  the  blast,  the  Anglo-Saxon  mother  now  rocks  the  cradle 
of  her  delicate  babe  on  the  carpet  of  peace,  and  in  the  gay  paj  - 
Jor  of  fashion.  The  v/ild  has  been  changed  to  a  blooming  gar- 
den, and  its  limits  are  expanding  with  the  mighty  genius  of 
Liberty.  On  Erie's  banks  tlic  flocks  are  now  straying  o'er  thy- 
my  pastures,  and  a  few  Dutchmen  (but  no  shepherds)  are  already 


254  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

piping  there.  The  yells  of  fierce  savages  now  faintly  echo  from 
beyond  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi,  and  the  time  is  not  far  ofif 
when  the  last  Indian  will  leave  his  bones  to  bleach  on  the  rock- 
bound  coast  of  the  Pacific.  P^^  j^. 


36.     DESPAIR. 

The  whitest  foam  dances  upon  the  darkest  billow,  and  the 
stars  shine  the  brightest  when  surrounded  by  the  blackest  of 
thunder- clouds ;  even  as  a  diamond  pin  glistens  with  the  greatest 
effulgence  when  fastened  upon  the  ebony  bosom  of  an  Ethio- 
pian wench.  So  hope  mirrors  its  most  brilliant  rays  in  the  dark 
wave  of  despair,  and  happiness  is  never  so  complete  as  when 
visited  occasionally  by  the  ministers  of  misery.  These  ups  and 
downs  in  the  pathway  of  man's  existence  are  all  for  the  best, 
and  yet  he  allows  them  to  vex  and  torment  his  peace  till  he 
bursts  the  boiler  of  his  rage,  and  scalds  his  own  toes.  I  have 
no  doubt  but  the  common  run  of  people  would  like  to  have  a 
railroad  built  from  here  to  the  grave,  and  go  through  by  steam ; 
but  if  they  all  worked  as  easy  in  life's  galling  collar  as  I  do, 
they  would  have  things  just  as  they  are ;  some  ups  and  some 
downs — some  sweet  and  some  bitter — some  sunshine  and  some 
storm ;  because  they  constitute  a  variety.  I  wouldn't  give  a 
shinplaster  penny  to  have  the  road  of  existence  perfectly  level ; 
for  I  should  soon  become  tired  of  a  dull  sameness  of  prospect, 
and  make  myself  miserable  in  the  idea  that  I  must  experience 
no  material  change,  either  for  better  or  for  worse.  Plum-pud- 
ding is  most  excellent  stuff  to  wind  off  a  dinner  with ;  but  all 
plum-pudding  would  be  worse  than  none  at  all.  So  you  see, 
my  friends,  the  trouble  and  trials  of  life  are  absolutely  neces- 
ttrtry  to  enable  us  to  judge  rightly  of  genuine  happiness,  when- 
ever it  happens  to  enliven  the  saturnine  region  of  the  heart  with 
its  presence. 

If  we  never  were  to  have  our  jackets  and  shirts  wet  with  the 
cold  rain  of  misfortune,  we  should  never  know  how  good  it  feels 
to  stand  out  and  dry  in  the  warm  rays  of  comfort.  You  needn't 
hesitate  ever  to  travel  through  swamps  of  trouble,  for  fear  of 
sintJijg  over  head  in  the  mud  of  despondency ;  for  despair  is 
never  quite  despair.  No,  my  friends,  it  never  comes  quite  up 
to  the  mark  in  the  most  desperate  cases.  I  know  the  prospects 
of  man  are  sometimes  most  tormentingly  conglomerous  ;    but 


DOW,  JR.  255 

the  clouds  eventually  clear  away,  and  liis  sky  again  becomes 
clear  and  quiescent  as  a  basin  of  potato  starch.  His  sun  of 
ambition  may  be  darkened — his  moon  of  memory  turned  to 
blood — and  the  star  of  his  peace  blotted  from  the  firmament  of 
his,  I  don't  know  what ;  but  he  is  not  entirely  a  gone  goose 
even  in  this  situation.  Those  semi- celestial  angels  of  light  and 
loveliness,  Hope  and  Fancy,  will  twine  the  sweetest  of  roses 
round  his  care-wrinkled  brow ;  and  while  one  whispers  in  his 
ear,  "  Don't  give  up  the  ship,"  the  other  dresses  up  for  him  a 
bower  of  future  happiness,  and  festoons  it  with  the  choicest  of 
elysian  flowers.  The  very  darkest  cell  of  despair  always  lias  a 
gimlet-hole  to  let  the  glory  of  hope  shine  in,  and  dry  up  the 
tears  of  the  poor  prisoner  of  woe  P^^  j^ 


37.     NATURE. 


My  dear  friends,  it  matters  not  upon  whichsoever  side  we 
turn  our  eyes,  we  behold  such  beauty  in  its  primitive  nakedness 
as  cannot  fail  to  captivate  the  heart  of  every  true  worshipper  of 
the  God  of  nature,  and  make  him  feel  as  though  ten  thousand 
caterpillars  were  crawHng  up  and  down  the  ossified  railway  of 
his  back.  Look  at  yonder  myriads  of  stars  that  glitter  and 
sparkle  from  the  dome  of  heaven's  high  concave  !  Say,  is  there 
not  beauty  in  these  ?  Ay,  there  is  beauty  magnificent  in  these 
little  celestial  trinkets  that  stud  the  ebon  brow  of  night — 
shining,  as  they  do,  like  a  multitude  of  beacon-lights  of  glory 
in  the  blue-black  of  eternity,  or  like  so  many  cats'  eyes  in  a  win- 
dowless  garret.  Observe  the  silvery  moon,  pale-faced  Cynthia, 
wandering  Luna,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call  her :  see  how 
gracefully  she  promenades  the  self-same  path  which  was  laid  out 
for  her  at  the  beginning  of  the  world.  Look  at  the  resplendent 
sun  :  see  how  it  has  maintained  its  unsullied  brightness  through 
the  rust-gathering  ages  of  time.  Not  a  single  thread  has  been 
lost  from  its  golden  fringe,  and  not  even  a  fly-speck  has  marred  its 
splendor ;  but  it  is  to-day  the  same  beautiful,  lovely  object  that 
it  was  when  it  first  burst  upon  Paradise,  and  rolled  back  the 
darkness  of  chaos  into  the  unknown  regions  of  nowhere.  There 
is  beauty  at  sunset.  Who  can  look  at  all  the  glories  of  an 
autumnal  twilight,  and  not  have  the  furze  upon  his  hands  rise 
up  in  rapture  !     Oh,  it  is,  by  all  odds,  the  grandest  and  sub- 


256  COMIC  AND  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

limest  picture  in  the  great  academy  of  nature  !  At  the  fes- 
tooned gates  of  the  West,  angels  of  peace  and  loveHness  have 
furled  their  purple  wings,  and  are  sweetly  sleeping  with  their 
heads  upon  pillows  of  amber,  over-canopied  with  curtains  of 
damask  and  crimson,  tempting  poor  mortals  like  us  to  climb  up 
the  ladder  of  imagination,  and  steal  kisses  by  the  bushel  ' 
When  the  morning,  too,  as  my  friend  Hudibras  observes,  like  a 
boiled  lobster,  begins  to  turn  from  brown  to  red,  there  is  beauty 
of  the  tallest  order.  Yes,  when  Aurora  hangs  out  her  red 
under-garment  from  her  chamber  window,  prepares  her  per- 
fumed toilet,  and  sweeps  out  the  last  speck  of  darkness  from 
the  Oriental  parlor,  there  is  such  blushing  beauty  lesting  upon 
the  eastern  hill- tops,  as  cannot  fail  to  be  appreciated  by  any  one 
whose  heart-strings  are  not  composed  of  catgut  and  horse-hair. 

Dow,  Ju. 


38.      SLUMBER. 


Various  philosophers  and  naturahsts  have  attempted  to  de- 
fine man.  I  never  was  satisfied  with  their  labors :  absurd  to 
pronounce  him  a  t\«o-legged,  unfeathered  animal,  when  it  is 
obvious  he  is  a  sleepy  one.  In  this  world  there  is  business 
enough  for  every  individual :  a  sparkling  sky  over  his  head  to 
admire,  a  soil  under  his  feet  to  till,  and  innumerable  objects, 
useful  and  pleasant,  to  choose.  But  such  in  general  is  the  pro- 
voking indolence  of  our  species,  that  the  hves  of  many,  if  im- 
partially journahzed,  might  be  truly  said  to  have  consisted  of  a 
series  of  slumbers.  Some  men  are  invested  with  day-dreams, 
as  well  as  by  visions  of  the  night :  they  travel  a  certain  insipid 
roundj  like  the  blind  horse  of  the  mill,  and,  as  Bolingbroke  ob- 
serves, perhaps  beget  others  to  do  the  like  after  them.  They 
may  sometimes  open  their  eyes  a  little,  but  they  are  soon  dimmed 
by  some  lazy  fog ;  they  may  sometimes  stretch  a  limb,  but  its 
efforts  are  soon  palsied  by  procrastination.  Yawning,  amid  to- 
bacco fumes,  they  seem  to  have  no  hopes,  except  that  their  bed 
will  soon  be  made,  and  no  fears,  except  that  their  slumbers  Avill 
be  broken  by  business  clamoring  at  the  door. 

How  tender  and  affectionate  is  the  reproachful  question  of 
Solomon,  "  When  wilt  thou  arise  out  of  sleep  ?"  Yet,  at  the 
present  time,  few  Solomons  exist  to  preach  against  pillows,  and 
never  was  there  more  occasion  for  a  sermon.     Our  country  be* 


DEKPOE.  257 

ing  at  peace,  not  a  drum  is  heard  to  rouse  the  slothful.  But, 
though  we  are  exempted  from  the  tumults  and  vicissitudes  of 
war,  we  should  remember  that  there  are  many  posts  of  duty,  if 
not  of  danger,  and  at  these  we  should  vigilantly  stand.  If  we 
will  stretch  the  hand  of  exertion,  means  to  acquire  competent 
wealth,  and  honest  fame,  abound ;  and  when  such  ends  are  in 
view,  how  shameful  to  close  our  eyes !  He  who  surveys  the 
paths  of  active  life,  will  find  them  so  numerous  and  long,  that 
he  will  feel  the  necessity  of  early  rising,  and  late  taking  rest,  to 
accomplish  so  much  travel.  He  who  pants  for  the  shade  of 
speculation,  will  find  that  literature  cannot  flourish  in  the  bow- 
ers of  indolence  and  monkish  gloom.  Much  midnight  oil  must 
be  consumed,  and  innumerable  pages  examined,  by  him  whose 
object  is  to  be  really  wise.  Few  hours  has  that  ma,n  to  sleep, 
tmd  not  one  to  loiter,  who  has  many  coffers  of  wealth  to  fill,  or 
many  cells  in  his  memory  to  store.  Dennie. 


39.      THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

Among  the  various  men  whom  I  see  in  the  course  of  my  pil- 
grimage through  this  world,  I  cannot  frequently  find  those  who 
are  broad  awake.  Sloth,  a  powerful  magician,  mutters  a  witch- 
ing spell,  and  deluded  mortals  tamely  suffer  this  drowsy  being 
to  bind  a  fillet  over  their  eyes.  All  their  activity  is  employed 
in  turning  themselves  like  a  door  on  a  rusty  hinge,  and  all  the 
noise  they  make  in  the  world  is  a  snore.  When  I  see  one,  de- 
signed by  nature  for  noble  purposes,  indolently  declining  the 
privilege,  and,  heedless,  like  Esau,  bartering  the  birthright  for 
what  is  of  less  worth  than  his  red  pottage  of  lentils,  for  liberty 
to  sit  still  and  lie  quietly, — I  think  I  see,  not  a  man,  but  an  oys- 
ter. The  drone  in  society,  like  that  fish  on  our  shores,  might  as 
well  be  sunken  in  the  mud,  and  inclosed  in  a  shell,  as  stretched 
on  a  couch,  or  seated  in  a  chimney-corner. 

The  season  is  now  approaching  fast,  Avhen  some  of  the  most 
plausible  excuses  for  a  little  more  sleep  must  fail.  Enervated 
by  indulgence,  the  slothful  are  of  all  men  most  impatient  of  cold, 
and  they  deem  it  never  more  intense  than  in  the  morning.  But 
the  last  bitter  month  has  rolled  away,  and  now,  could  I  per- 
suade to  the  experiment,  the  sluggard  may  discover  that  he  may 
toss  off  the  bedquilt,  and  try  the  air  of  early  day  without  being 
congealed !     He  may  be  assured  that  sleep  is  a  very  stupid  em- 


258  COMIC  ANB  AMUSING  SELECTIONS. 

ployment,  and  diflfers  very  little  from  death,  except  in  duration. 
He  may  receive  it  implicitly,  upon  the  faith  both  of  the  physi- 
cian and  the  preacher,  that  morning  is  friendly  to  the  health 
and  the  heart ;  and  if  the  idler  is  so  manacled  by  the  chains  of 
habit,  that  he  can,  at  first,  do  no  more,  he  will  do  wisely  and 
well  to  inhale  pure  air,  to  watch  the  rising  sun,  and  mark  the 
magnificence  of  nature.  Dbnnie. 


259 


SELECTIONS    IN    POETEY, 


1.      THE  SOLDIER  S  TEAR. 

Upon  the  hill  he  turned 

To  take  a  last  fond  look. 
Of  the  valley  and  the  village  church 

And  the  cottage  by  the  brook ; 
He  listened  to  the  sounds. 

So  familiar  to  his  ear. 
And  the  soldier  leant  upon  his  sword 

And  wiped  away  a  tear. 

Beside  that  cottage  porch 

A  girl  was  on  her  knees. 
She  held  aloft  a  snowy  scarf, 

Which  fluttered  in  the  breeze  ; 
She  breathed  a  prayer  for  him, 

A  prayer  he  could  not  hear, 
But  he  paused  to  bless  her,  as  she  knelt. 

And  wiped  away  a  tear. 

He  turned  and  left  the  spot. 

Oh,  do  not  deem  him  weak  ; 
For  dauntless  was  the  soldier's  heart. 

Though  tears  were  on  his  cheek  : 
Go  watch  the  foremost  rank 

In  danger's  dark  career. 
Be  sure  the  hand  most  daring  there 

Has  wiped  away  a  tear.  rr  ^  b^ilet 


260  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


2.      THE  VETERAN. 

It  was  a  Sabbath  mom, 

The  bell  had  chimed  for  church, 
And  the  young  and  gay  were  gathering 

Around  the  rustic  porch  ; 

There  came  an  aged  man. 

In  a  soldier's  garb  was  he. 
And  gazing  round  the  group,  he  cried, 

"  Do  none  remember  me  ?" 

The  veteran  forgot 

His  friends  were  changed  or  gone  ; 
The  manly  forms  around  him  there, 

As  children  he  had  known  : 

He  pointed  to  the  spot 

Where  his  dwelling  used  to  be. 
Then  told  his  name,  and  smiling  said, 

"  You  now  remember  me !" 

Alas !  none  knew  him  there  ! 

He  pointed  to  a  stone, 
On  which  the  name  he  breathed  was  traced 

A  name  to  them  unknown  ; 

And  then  the  old  man  wept, 

"  I  am  friendless,  now,"  cried  he ;' 
*'  Where  I  had  many  friends  in  youth, 

Not  one  remembers  me  !" 


T.  H.  Bailbt 


THE  DESERTER. 


*Tis  the  dismal  beat  of  a  muffled  drum, 

A  crowd  on  the  rampart  gathers  ; 
What  means  that  dirge  amid  prancing  steeds. 

Bright  armor  and  flaunting  feathers  !  - 
In  the  martial  throng  one  warrior  kneels. 

With  no  Avarrior's  garb  upon  him, 
And  he  hides  his  face  with  his  folded  hands. 

For  his  old  companions  shun  him. 


T.  H.  BAILEY. 

The  deserter  shrinks  from  the  thought  of  death. 

But  it  is  not  a  coward's  terror. 
No,  fain  would  he  die  in  well-fought  field, 

To  blot  out  one  fatal  error  ! 
Again !  'tis  the  beat  of  the  muffled  drum. 

And  the  fatal  arms  are  ready. 
And  the  prisoner  waits  for  the  signal  word. 

With  an  aspect  calm  and  steady. 

They  have  bound  his  eyes  with  a  silken  fold. 

But  his  hands  again  displace  it : 
For  he  who  deserves  so  vile  a  doom. 

Hath  at  least  the  nerve  to  face  it ; 
Shall  the  brand  of  dishonor  gall  the  heart. 

That  hath  sighed  for  the  wreath  of  glory  ? 
Shall  his  children  blush  for  their  father's  shame. 


261 


When  they  hear  the  mournful  story  ? 


T.  H.  BAiunr 


4.      THE  PILOT. 


Oh,  pilot !  'tis  a  fearful  night, 

There's  danger  on  the  deep, 
I'll  come  and  pace  the  deck  with  thee, 

I  do  not  dare  to  sleep. 
Go  down !  the  sailor" cried,  go  down, 

This  is  no  place  for  thee : 
Fear  not ;  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

Ah !  pilot,  dangers  often  met. 

We  all  are  apt  to  slight. 
And  thou  hast  known  these  raging  waves 

But  to  subdue  their  might. 
It  is  not  apathy,  he  cried, 

That  gives  this  strength  to  me : 
Fear  not,  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

On  such  a  night  the  sea  engulfed 

My  father's  lifeless  form ; 
My  only  brother's  boat  went  down 

In  just  so  wild  a  storm  * 


262  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

And  such,  perhaps,  may  be  my  fate, 

But  still  I  say  to  thee 
Fear  not ;  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be.  rp  j^  bailey. 


5.     THE  OLD  MAN  S  RE  VERY. 

Of  what  is  the  old  man  thinking. 

As  he  leans  on  his  oaken  staff? 
From  the  May-day  pastime  shrinking. 

He  shares  not  the  merry  laugh. 
But  the  tears  of  the  old  man  flow, 

As  he  looks  on  the  young  and  gay ; 
And  his  gray  head,  moving  slow. 

Keeps  time  to  the  air  they  play. 
The  elders  around  are  drinking, 

But  not  one  cup  will  he  quaff: 
Oh,  of  what  is  the  old  man  thinking. 

As  he  leans  on  his  oaken  staff? 

'Tis  not  with  a  vain  repining 

That  the  old  man  sheds  a  tear, 
'Tis  not  for  his  strength  declining — 

He  sighs  not  to  linger  here. 
There's  a  spell  in  the  air  they  play. 

And  the  old  man's  eyes  are  dim. 
For  it  calls  up  a  past  May-day, 

And  the  dear  friends  lost  to  him. 
From  the  scene  before  him  shrinking. 

From  the  dance  and  the  merry  laugh, 
Of  their  calm  repose  he  is  thinking. 

As  he  leans  on  his  oaken  staff.        m  tt  ;rajt j-t 


6.     OFT  IN  religion's  NAME. 

Too  oft  in  pure  Religion's  name 
Hath  human  blood  been  spilt. 

And  Pride  hath  claimed  a  patriot's  fame. 
To  crown  the  deed  of  guilt. 


T.  H.  BAILEY.  263 

Oh  !  look  not  on  the  field  of  blood — 

Religion  is  not  there : 
Her  battle-field  is  solitude — 

Her  only  watchword,  Prayer ! 

The  sable  cowl  ambition  wears 

To  hide  its  laurel  wreath ; 
The  spotless  sword  that  virtue  bears. 

Will  slumber  in  its  sheath. 
The  truly  brave  fight  not  for  fame, 

Though  fearless  they  go  forth  ; 
They  war  not  in  religion's  name — 

They  pray  for  peace  on  earth. 

By  them,  that  fear  is  never  felt 

Which  weakly  clings  to  life. 
If  shrines  by  which  their  fathers  knelt 

Be  perilled  in  the  strife. 
Not  theirs  the  heart  that,  spiritless. 

From  threatened  wrong  withdraws  ; 
Not  theirs  the  vaunted  holiness 

That  veils  an  earthly  cause.  ,p  jj  Bailkt 


7.    THE  UNBELIEVER. 

Is  there  an  unbeliever  f 

One  man  who  walks  the  earth, 
And  madly  doubts  that  Providence 

Watched  o'er  him  at  his  birth  ? 
He  robs  mankind  forever 

Of  hopes  beyond  the  tomb  : 
What  gives  he  as  a  recompense  ? 

The  brute's  unhallowed  doom. 

In  manhood's  loftiest  hour,   ' 

In  health,  and  strength,  and  pride. 
Oh  !  lead  his  steps  through  valleys  green. 

Where  rills  'mid  cowslips  glide : 
Climb  nature's  granite  tower. 

Where  man  hath  rarely  trod  ; 
And  will  he  then,  in  such  a  scene. 

Deny  there  is  a  God  ? 


264.  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

Yes — the  proud  heart  will  ever  W 

Prompt  the  false  tongue's  reply ; 
An  omnipresent  Providence 

Still  madly  he'll  deny. 
But  see  the  unbeliever 

Sinking  in  death's  decay ; 
And  hear  the  cry  of  penitence  ! — 

He  never  learnt  to  pray.  ^  ^  ^^^^^^ 


8.     THE  DREAM  OP  DARKNESS. 

I  HAD  a  dream  ;  and  yet,  methought, 

It  was  not  all  a  dream : 
'Mid  darkness  brooding  wide,  I  sought, 

But  found  no  cheering  beam. 

At  first  there  was  one  flickering  ray. 
Which  shot  athwart  the  gloom. 

Like  ghastly  smile  on  rotting  clay, 
Within  the  cold,  damp  tomb. 

Long  hours  I  strove,  with  painful  gasp, 
To  catch  one  breath  of  light ; 

But  at  my  throat  a  demon's  grasp 
Seemed  laid  with  deadly  might. 

That  glimmer  fled,  I  cursed  my  birth  ; 

I  cursed  the  sun  that  gave ; 
For  darkness  pressed,  like  trodden  earth. 

Upon  a  live  man's  grave. 

Cold  on  my  limbs,  as  on  the  dead, 
A  clammy  mold  there  came ; 

Foul  slimy  worms  crawled  there  and  fed— 
They  gnawed  my  wasting  frame. 

A  fire-fly  once  came  flitting  by ; 

A  moment — ^it  was  gone : 
I  saw  (and  prayed  that  I  might  die) 

A  sister's  skeleton. 


KICHAED  BACON,  JR. — ^THOMAS  HOOD.  265 

That  was  the  last !     Like  guilty  men, 

To  black  perdition  hurled, 
No  ray  of  hope  was  left  me  then — 

For  darkness  was  the  world. 

Richard  Bacon,  Jb. 


9.     I  REMEMBER,  I  REMEMBER. 

I  REMEMBER,  I  remember. 

The  house  where  I  was  born ; 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 

Came  peeping  in  at  morn : 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 

Nor. brought  too  long  a  day ; 
But  now,  I  often  wish  the  night 

Had  borne  my  breath  away  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

The  roses — red  and  white  ; 
The  violets  and  the  lily-cups,     - 

Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built. 

And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birth-day, — 

The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

F  remember,  I  remember. 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing  ; 
And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing. 
My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then. 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 
And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

The  fir-trees  dark  and  high  ; 
I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky  : 
It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 
To  know  I'm  further  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy.  Thomas  Hood. 

12 


266  SELECTIONS  m  POETRY. 


10.  GOLD. 


Gold  !  gold  !  gold !  gold ! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold. 
Molten,  graven,  hammered  and  rolled ; 
Heavy  to  get  and  light  to  hold ; 
Hoarded,  bartered,  bought  and  sold. 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled : 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old. 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  church-yard  mold  j 
Price  of  many  a  crime  untold ! 
Gold  !  gold  !  gold !  gold ! 
Good  or  bad  a  thousand-fold  ! 

How  widely  its  agencies  vary, — 
To  save — to  ruin — to  curse — to  bless — 
As  even  its  minted  coins  express  ; 
Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  Good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  of  a  Bloody  Mary !  ^^^^^^  jjoou 


11.     AVENGED  HONOR. 

Honor,  thou  blood-stained  god  !  at  whose  red  altar 

Sit  war  and  homicide,  oh,  to  what  madness 

Will  insult  drive  thy  votaries  !  By  heaven  !    » 

In  the  world's  range  there  does  not  breathe  a  man 

Whose  brutal  nature  I  more  strove  to  soothe. 

With  long  forbearance,  kindness,  courtesy, 

Than  his  who  fell  by  me.     But  he  disgraced  me, 

Stained  me :  oh,  death  and  shame  !  the  world  looked  on. 

And  saw  this  sinewy  savage  strike  me  down ; 

Rain  blows  upon  me,  drag  me  to  and  fro. 

On  the  base  earth,  like  carrion.     Desperation, 

In  every  fibre  of  my  frame,  cried  vengeance  ! 

I  left  the  room,  which  he  had  quitted :  chance — 

Curse  on  the  chance  ! — while  boiling  with  my  wrongs. 

Thrust  me  against  him,  darkling,  in  the  street  : 

I  stabbed  him  to  the  heart ;  and  my  oppressor 

Rolled  lifeless  at  my  foot. 

E'en  at  the  moment  when  I  gave  the  blow. 

Butchered  a  fellow- creature  in  the  dark. 


COLMAN. 

I  had  all  good  men's  love.     But  my  disgrace, 

And  my  opponent's  death,  thus  linked  with  it, 

Demanded  notice  of  the  magistracy. 

They  summoned  me,  as  friend  would  summon  friend, 

To  acts  of  import  and  communication. 

We  met ;  and  'twas  resolved,  to  stifle  rumor. 

To  put  me  on  my  trial.     No  accuser. 

No  evidence  appeared  to  urge  it  on : 

'Twas  meant  to  clear  my  fame.     How  clear  it  then  ? 

How  cover  it  ?  you  say.     Why,  by  a  lie  ; 

Guilt's  offspring  and  its  guard.     I  taught  this  breast. 

Which  truth  once  made  her  throne,  to  forge  a  he ; 

This  tongue  to  utter  ft  ;  rounded  a  tale. 

Smooth  as  a  seraph's  song  from  Satan's  mouth ; 

So  well- compacted,  that  the  o'erthronged  court 

Disturbed  cool  justice  in  her  judgment-seat, 

By  shouting  "  innocence !"  ere  I  had  finished. 

The  court  enlarged  me  ;  and  the  giddy  rabble 

Bore  me  in  triumph  home.     Ay  !  look  upon  me. 

I  know  thy  sight  aches  at  me. 

I  ask  no  consolation. 

Hurt  honor,  in  an  evil,  cursed  hour, 

Drove  me  to  murder — lying :  'twould  again. 

My  honesty,  sweet  peace  of  mind,  all,  all 

Are  bartered  for  a  name.     I  will  maintain  it. 

Should  slander  whisper  o'er  my  sepulchre. 

And  my  soul's  agency  survive  in  death, 

I  could  embody  it  with  heaven's  lightning, 

And  the  hot  shaft  of  my  insulted  spirit 

Should  strike  the  blaster  of  my  memory 

Dead,  in  the  church-yard.  ^  ^^ 


267 


12.     POSTHUMOUS  FAME. 

This  honest  soul 

Would  fain  look  cheery  in  my  house's  gloom ; 

And,  like  a  gay  and  sturdy  evergreen. 

Smiles  in  the  midst  of  blast  and  desolation. 

Where  all  around  him  withers.     Well,  well,  wither  ! 

Perish  this  frail  and  fickle  frame, — this  clay. 

That,  in  its  dross-like  compound,  doth  contain 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

The  mind's  pure  ore  and  essence  !     Oh !  that  mind- 
That  mind  of  man  !  that  god-Hke  spring  of  action ! 
That  source  whence  learning,  virtue,  honor,  flow  ! 
Which  lifts  us  to  the  stars ;  which  carries  us 
O'er  the  swoln  waters  of  the  angry  deep, 
As  swallows  skim  the  air  ! — Thou  fame's  sole  fountain. 
That  doth  transmit  a  fair  and  spotless  name. 
When  the  vile  trunk  is  rotten.     Give  me  this — 
Oh,  give  me  but  to  live  in  after  age, 
Remember'd  and  unsullied ! — Heaven  and  earth ! 
Let  my  pure  flame  of  honor  shine  in  story. 
When  I  am  cold  in  death,  and  the  slow  fire, 
That  wears  my  vitals  now,  will  no  more  move  me. 
Than  'twould  a  corse  within  a  monument !  Colmah 


13.     MONTEREY. 


We  were  not  many — we  who  stood 

Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day — 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Give  half -his  years  if  he  but  could 
Have  been  with  us  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot,  it  hailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray. 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on — still  on  our  column  kept 

Through  walls  of  flame  its  withering  way ; 
Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living  stept. 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  that  swept 

The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 

The  foe  himself  recoiled  aghast, 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay. 
We  swooped  his  flanking  batteries  past. 
And  braving  full  their  murderous  blast. 
Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave. 
And  there  our  evening  bugles  play ; 


C.  F.  HOFFMAN. ALBERT  PIKE.  269 

Where  orange  boughs  above  their  grave 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 
Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 

We  are  not  many — we  who  pressed 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day ; 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 
He'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest, 

Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey  ? 

0.  F.  Hoffman 


14.     BUENA  VISTA. 

From  the  Rio  Grande's  waters  to  the  icy  lakes  of  Maine, 

Let  all  exult !  for  we  have  met  the  enemy  again — 

Beneath  their  stern  old  mountains,  we  have  met  them  in  their 

pride. 
And  rolled  from  Buena  Yista  back  the  battle's  bloody  tide : 
Where  the  enemy  came  surging,  like  the  Mississippi's  flood ; 
And  the  reaper.  Death,  was  busy,  with  his  sickle  red  with  blood. 

Santa  Anna  boasted  loudly,  that  before  two  hours  were  past, 
His  lancers  through  Saltillo  should  pursue  us  thick  and  fast : 
On  came  his  solid  regiments,  line  marching  after  line ; 
Lo  !  their  great  standards  in  the  sun  like  sheets  of  silver  shine  ! 
With  thousands  upon  thousands,  yea,  with  more  than  four  to  one, 
A  forest  of  bright  bayonets  gleams  fiercely  in  the  sun ! 

Upon  them  with  your  squadrons.  May ! — Out  leaps  the  flam- 
ing steel ! 
Before  his  serried  column,  how  the  frightened  lancers  reel ! 
They  flee  amain. — Now  to  the  left,  to  stay  their  triumph  there. 
Or  else  the  day  is  surely  lost  in  horror  and  despair : 
For  their  hosts  are  pouring  swiftly  on,  like  a  river  in  the  spring — 
^  Our  flank  is  turned,  and  on  our  left  their  cannon  thundering. 

Now,  brave  artillery  !  Bold  dragoons  ! — Steady,  my  men,  and 

calm ! 
Through  rain,  cold,  hail,  and  thunder ;  now  nerve  each  gallant  arm ! 
What  though  their  shot  falls  round  us  here,  still  thicker  than 

the  hail ! 
We'll  stand  against  them,  as  the  rock  stands  firm  against  the  gale. 


270  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

Lo  ! — tlieir  battery  is  silenced  now  :  our  iron  hail  still  showers : 
They  falter,  halt,  retreat ! — Hurra !  the  glorious  day  is  ours ! 

Now  charge  again,  Santa  Anna !  or  the  day  is  surely  lost ; 
For  back,  like  broken  waves,  along  our  left  your  hordes  are  tossed. 
Still  louder  roar  two  batteries — his  strong  reserve  moves  on  ; — 
More  work  is  there  before  you,  men,  ere  the  good  fight  is  won ; 
Now  for  your  wives  and  children  stand !    steady,  my  braves, 

once  more ! 
Now  for  your  lives,  your  honor,  fight !    as  you  never  fought 

before. 

Ho  !  Hardin  breasts  it  bravely  ! — McKee  and  Bissell  there 
Stand  firm  before  the  storm  of  balls  that  fills  the  astonished  air. 
The  lancers  are  upon  them,  too ! — the  foe  swarms  ten  to  one — 
Hardin  is  slain — McKee  and  Clay  the  last  time  see  the  sun ; 
And  many  another  gallant  heart,  in  that  last  desperate  fray. 
Grew  cold,  its  last  thoughts  turning  to  its  loved  ones  far  away. 

Still  sullenly  the  cannon  roared — but  died  away  at  last ; 
And  o'er  the  dead  and  dying  came  the  evening  shadows  fast. 
And   then   above   the   mountains  rose  the  cold   moon's  silver 

shield, 
And  patiently  and  pityingly  looked  down  upon  the  field ; — 
And  careless  of  his  wounded,  and  neglectful  of  his  dead, 
Desparingly  and  sullen,  in  the  night,  Santa  Anna  fled. 

Albert  Pike. 


15.     DARKNESS. 


1  HAD  a  dream,"  which  was  not  all  a  dream. 
The  bright  sun  was  extinguished,  and  the  stars 
Did  wander,  darkling,  in  the  eternal  space, 
Rayless,  and  pathless,  and  the  icy  earth 
Swung  blind,  and  blackening,  in  the  moonless  air ; 
Morn  came,  and  went — and  came,  and  brought  no  day; 
And  men  forgot  their  passions,  in  the  dread 
Of  this  their  desolation  ;  and  all  hearts 
Were  chilled  into  a  selfish  prayer  for  light. 

Some  lay  down. 
And  hid  their  eyes,  and  wept ;  and  some  did  rest 
"^heir  chins  upon  their  clenched  hands,  and  smiled ; 


BYKON.  271 

And  others  hurried  to  and  fro,  and  fed 

Their  funeral  piles  with  fuel,  and  looked  up. 

With  mad  disquietude,  on  the  dull  sky. 

The  pall  of  a  past  world ;  and  then  again, 

With  curses,  cast  them  down  upon  the  dust, 

And  gnashed  their  teeth,  and  howled.     The  wild  birds  shrieked, 

And,  terrified,  did  flutter  on  the  ground. 

And  flap  their  useless  wings :  the  wildest  brutes 

Came  tame,  and  tremulous ;  and  vipers  crawled 

And  twined  themselves  among  the  multitude. 

Hissing,  but  stingless — they  were  slain  for  food. 

The  meager  by  the  meager  were  devoured ; 

Even  dogs  assailed  their  masters — all  save  one. 

And  he  was  faithful  to  a  corse,  and  kept 

The  birds,  and  beasts,  and  famished  men  at  bay, 

Till  hunger  clung  them,  or  the  dropping  dead 

Lured  their  lank  jaws ;  himself  sought  out  no  food, 

But,  with  a  piteous  and  perpetual  moan, 

And  a  quick  desolate  cry,  licking  the  hand 

Which  answered  not  with  a  caress — he  died. 

The  crowd  was  famished  by  degrees ;  but  two 
Of  an  enormous  city  did  survive. 
And  they  were  enemies ;  they  met  beside 
The  dying  embers  of  an  altar-place. 
Where  had  been  heaped  a  mass  of  holy  things. 
For  an  unholy  usage  :  they  raked  up. 
And,  shivering,  scraped,  with  their  cold  skeleton  hands, 
The  feeble  ashes,  and  their  feeble  breath 
Blew  for  a  little  life,  and  made  a  flame. 
Which  was  a  mockery :  then  they  lifted 
Their  eyes,  as  it  grew  lighter,  and  beheld 
Each  other's  aspects :  saw,  and  shrieked,  and  died. 
Even  of  their  mutual  hideousness  they  died. 
Unknowing  who  he  was  upon  whose  brow 
Famine  had  written  fiend.     The  world  was  void ; 
The  populous  and  the  powerful  was  a  lump — 
Seasonless,  herbless,  treeless,  manless,  lifeless ; 
A  lump  of  death — a  chaos  of  hard  clay. 
The  rivers,  lakes,  and  ocean,  all  stood  still. 
And  nothing  stirred  within  their  silent  depths : 
Ships,  sailorlcss,  lay  rotting  on  the  sea. 
And  their  masts  fell  down  piecemeal ;  as  they  dropped. 
They  slept,  on  the  abyss,  without  a  surge  : 
The  waves  were  dead ;  the  tides  were  in  their  grave ; 


272  8ELE0TI0I>rS  IN  POETKY. 

The  moon,  their  mistress,  had  expired  before ; 

The  winds  were  withered  in  the  stagnant  air. 

And  the  clouds  perished :  darkness  had  no  need 

Of  aid  from  them ;  she  was  the  universe.  Byeo* 


16.      SOLITUDE. 


To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell. 

To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene. 
Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell. 

And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er,  or  rarely  been ; 
To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen. 

With  the  wild  flock,  that  never  needs  a  fold ; 
Alone,  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  folds  to  lean ; — 

This  is  not  solitude ;  'tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  nature's  charms,  and  view  her  stores  unrolled 

But,  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men. 

To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess. 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen. 

With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless ; 
Minions  of  splendor,  shrinking  from  distress ! 

None,  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued. 
If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less. 

Of  all  that  flattered,  followed,  sought,  and  sued  ; — 
This  is  to  be  alone ;  this,  this  is  solitude !  Byecn 


17.      MAZEPPA. 


**  Bring  forth  the  horse !" — the  horse  was  brought ; 

In  truth,  he  was  a  noble  steed, 

A  Tartar  of  the  Ukraine  breed. 
Who  looked  as  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  in  his  limbs  ;  but  he  was  wild. 
Wild  as  the  wild  deer,  and  untaught. 

With  spur  and  bridle  undefiled — 
'Twas  but  a  day  he  had  been  caught ; 

And  snorting  with  erected  mane. 

And  struggling  fiercely,  but  in  vain. 
In  the  full  foam  of  wrath  and  dread. 


BYKON.  273 


To  me  the  desert-born  was  led  : 
They  bound  me  on,  that  menial  throng, 
Upon  his  back  with  many  a  thong ; 
They  loosed  him  with  a  sudden  lash ; 
Away !  away ! — and  on  we  dash  ! — 
Torrents  less  rapid  and  less  rash. 

Away,  away,  my  steed  and  I, 
Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind. 
All  human  dwelHngs  left  behind ; 
We  sped  like  meteors  through  the  sky. 
When  with  its  crackling  sound,  the  night 
Is  checkered  with  the  northern  light ; 
Town, — village, — none  were  on  our  track. 
But  a  wild  plain  of  far  extent. 
And  bounded  by  a  forest  black ; 
The  sky  was  dull,  and  dim,  and  gray. 
And  a  low  breeze  crept  moaning  by : 
I  could  have  answered  with  a  sigh ; 
But  fast  we  fled,  away,  away, 
And  I  could  neither  sigh  nor  pray ; 
And  my  cold  sweat-drops  fell,  like  rain. 
Upon  the  courser's  bristling  mane. 

We  neared  the  wild- wood — 'twas  so  wide, 
I  saw  no  bounds  on  either  side ; — 
The  boughs  gave  way,  and  did  not  tear 
My  hmbs,  and  I  found  strength  to  bear 
My  wounds,  already  scarred  with  cold — ■ 
My  bonds  forbade  to  loose  my  hold. 
We  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind. 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind. 
By  night  I  heard  them  on  my  track : 
Their  troop  came  hard  upon  our  back. 
With  their  long  gallop,  which  can  tire 
The  hound's  deep  hate,  and  hunter's  fire : 

Where'er  we  flew  they  followed  on, 
"Nor  left  us  with  the  morning  sun. 
Oh !  how  I  wished  for  spear  or  sword, 
At  least  to  die  amidst  the  horde. 
And  perish,  if  it  must  be  so. 
At  bay,  destroying  many  a  foe. 
My  heart  turned  sick,  my  brain  grew  sore, 
And  throbbed  a  while,  then  beat  no  more. 
12-^ 


274:  SELEcnoNS  m  poetry. 

The  skies  spun  like  a  mighty  wheel : 
I  saw  the  trees  like  drunkards  reel, 
And  a  slight  flash  sprung  o'er  my  eyes. 
Which  saw  no  further :  he  who  dies 
Can  die  no  more  than  then  I  died, 
O'ertortured  by  that  ghastly  ride. 

A  trampling  troop ;  I  see  them  come  ! 
In  one  vast  squadron  they  advance ! 
The  sight  renerved  my  courser's  feet, 
A  moment  staggering,  feebly  fleet, 
A  moment  with  a  faint  low  neigh. 

He  answered,  and  then  fell ; 
With  gasps  and  glazing  eyes  he  lay. 
And  reeking  limbs  immovable  : 
His  first  and  last  career  is  done  ! 
On  came  the  troop — they  saw  him  stoop. 
They  saw  me  strangely  bound  along 
His  back  with  many  a  bloody  thong  ; 
Tliey  snort — they  foam — neigh — swerve  aside. 
And  backward  to  the  forest  fly. 
By  instinct,  from  a  human  eye. 

They  left  me  there  to  my  despair, 
Linked  to  the  dead  and  stiffening  wretch. 
Whose  lifeless  limbs  beneath  me  stretch, — 
Relieved  from  that  unwonted  weight. 
From  which  I  could  not  extricate 
Nor  him  nor  me ;  and  there  we  lay. 

The  dying  on  the  dead.  ^^^^^ 


18.     THE  OCEAN. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods, 
There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore. 
There  is  society  where  none  intrudes. 
By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar : 
I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 
From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before. 
To  mingle  with  the  Universe,  and  feel 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 


BYPwOJST.  275 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean — roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain. 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  :  his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ; — upon  the  wateiy  plain 
The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own ; 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths,  with  bubbling  groan. 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, — 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war, — 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake. 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  : 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they  ? 
Thy  waters  wasted  them,  while  they  were  free. 
And  many  a  tyrant  since :  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage  :  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts : — Not  so  thou  : 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play. 
Time  writes  no  wrinkles  on  thine  azure  brow  : 
liSttch  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  roUest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests  ;  in  all  time, 
(Calm  or  convulsed,  in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm. 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving,) — boundless,  endless,  and  sublime — 
The  image  of  Eternity — the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible  ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

Btrox. 


276  SELECTIONS  m  POETKT. 


19.      BELSIIAZZAK  S  VISION. 


The  king  was  on  his  throne, 

Tlie  satraps  thronged  the  hall ! 
A  thousand  bright  lamps  shone 

O'er  that  high  festival. 
A  thousand  cups  of  gold. 

In  Judak  deemed  divine — 
Jehovah's  vessels  hold 

The  godless  Heathen's  wine. 

In  that  same  hour  and  hall. 

The  fingers  of  a  hand 
Came  forth  against  the  wall. 

And  wrote  as  if  on  sand ; 
The  fingers  of  a  man  ; — 

A  solitary  hand 
Along  the  letters  ran. 

And  traced  them  like  a  wand. 

The  monarch  saw,  and  shook. 

And  bade  no  more  rejoice ; 
All  bloodless  waxed  his  look. 

And  tremulous  his  voice. 
*'  Let  the  men  of  lore  appear. 

The  wisest  of  the  eartli. 
And  expound  the  words  of  fear 

Which  mar  our  royal  mirth.** 

Chaldea's  seers  are  good. 

But  here  they  have  no  skill ; 
And  the  unknown  letters  stood 

Untold  and  awful  still. 
And  Babel's  men  of  age 

Are  wise  and  deep  in  lore  ; 
But  now  they  were  not  sage  : 

They  saw^but  knew  no  more. 

A  captive  in  the  land, 

A  stranger  and  a  youth, 
He  heard  the  king's  command. 

He  saw  that  writing's  truth. 
The  lamps  around  were  bright. 

The  prophecy  in  view ; 
He  read  it  on  that  night — 

The  morrow  proved  it  true. 


**  Belshazzar's  grave  is  made. 

His  kingdom  passed  away. 
He,  in  the  balance  weighed, 

Is  light  and  worthless  clay — 
The  shroud,  his  robe  of  state. 

His  canopy  the  stone  : 
The  Mede  is  at  his  gate ! 

The  Persian  on  his  throne !"  By&ok. 


20.      THE  SHIPWRECK. 

As  day  advanced  the  weather  seemed  to  abate, 
And  then  the  leak  they  reckoned  to  reduce, 

And  keep  the  ship  afloat,  though  three  feet  yet 
Kept  two  hand  and  one  chain  pump  still  in  use. 

The  wind  blew  fresh  again  :  as  it  grew  late  , 

A  squall  came  on,  and  while  some  guns  broke  loose, 

A  gust — which  all  descriptive  power  transcends — 

Laid  with  one  blast  the  ship  on  her  beam-ends. 

Immediately  the  masts  were  cut  away. 

Both  main  and  mizen ;  first  the  mizen  went. 

The  mainmast  followed  :  but  the  ship  still  lay 
Like  a  mere  log,  and  baffled  our  intent. 

Foremast  and  bowsprit  were  cut  down,  and  they 
Eased  her  at  last  (although  we  never  meant 

To  part  with  all  'till  every  hope  was  blighted). 

And  then  with  violence  the  old  ship  righted. 

'Twas  twilight,  and  the  sunless  day  went  down 

Over  the  waste  of  waters  ;  like  a  veil. 
Which,  if  withdrawn,  would  but  disclose  the  frown 

Of  one  whose  fate  is  masked  but  to  assail. 
Thus  to  their  hopeless  eyes  the  night  was  shown. 

And  grimly  darkled  o'er  the  faces  pale. 
And  the  dim  desolate  deep  :  twelve  days  had  Fear 
Been  their  familiar,  and  now  Death  was  here 

At  half-past  eight  o'clock,  booms,  hencoops,  spars. 
And  all  things,  for  a  chance,  had  been  cast  loose. 

That  still  could  keep  afloat  the  struggling  tars  ; 
For  yet  they  strove,  although  of  no  great  use. 


278  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

There  was  no  light  in  heaven  but  a  few  stars ; — 

The  boats  put  off  o'ercrowded  with  their  crews : 
She  gave  a  heel,  and  then  a  lurch  to  port, 
And,  going  down  head-foremost — sunk,  in  short. 
Then  rose  from  sea  to  sky  the  wild  farewell — 

Then  shrieked  the  timid,  and  stood  still  the  brave ; — 
Then  some  leaped  overboard  with  dreadful  yell. 

As  eager  to  anticipate  their  grave ; 
And  the  sea  yawned  around  her  like  a  hell. 

And  down  she  sucked  with  her  the  whirling  wave, 
Like  one  who  grapples  with  his  enemy. 
And  strives  to  strangle  him  before  he  die. 
And  first  one  universal  shriek  there  rushed. 

Louder  than  the  loud  ocean,  hke  a  crash 
Of  echoing  thunder ;  and  then  all  was  hushed. 

Save  the  wild  wind  and  the  remorseless  dash 
Of  billows ;  but  at  intervals  there  gushed, 
Accompanied  with  a  convulsive  splash, 
A  solitary  shriek,  the  bubbling  cry 
Of  some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony.  BrRow 


21.     THE  BATTLE  OF  ALBUERA. 

Hark  !  heard  you  not  those  hoofs  of  dreadful  note  ? 

Sounds  not  the  clang  of  conflict  on  the  heath  ? 
Saw  ye  not  whom  the  reeking  sabre  smote, — 

Nor  saved  your  brethren  ere  they  sank  beneath 
Tyrants  and  tyrants'  slaves  ?     The  fires  of  death, 
u      The  bale-fires,  flash  on  high ; — from  rock  to  rock. 
Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe. 

Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  siroc  ; 
Ked  JBattle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock. 
Lo  !  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands  ! 

His  blood-red  tresses  deepening  in  the  sun  ; 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands. 

And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon ! 
Restless  it  rolls  ;  now  fixed,  and  now  anon 

Flashing  afar  ; — and  at  his  iron  feet. 
Destruction  cowers  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done ; 

For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet, 
To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet ! 


BYEON. SHAKSPEAEE.  279 

By  heaven  !  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see, — 

For  one  who  hath  no  friend  nor  brother  there, — 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mixed  embroidery — 

Their  various  arms  that  glitter  in  the  air ! 
What  gallant  war- hounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair. 

And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud-yelling  for  the  prey  ! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share  : 

The  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away. 
And  Havoc,  scarce  for  joy,  can  number  their  array. 

Three  Hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice  ; 

Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high ; 
Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies : 

The  shouts  are,  " France,"  "Spain,"  "  Albion,"  "  Victory  !" 
The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally. 

That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain. 
Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die — 

To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain. 
And  fertilize  the  field  that  each  pretends  to  gain. 

There  shall  they  rot — Ambition's  honored  fools ! 

Yes,  Honor  decks  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay  ! 
Vain  sophistry !  in  these  behold  the  tools, — 

The  broken  tools, — that  tyrants  cast  away 
By  myriads,  when  they  dare  to  pave  their  way 

With  human  hearts — to  what  ? — a  dream  alone. 
Can  despots  combat  aught  that  hails  their  sway  ? 

Or  call,  with  truth,  one  span  of  earth  their  own, 
Sa"e  that  wherein,  at  last,  they  crumble  bone  by  bone  ? 

ByjaoN. 


22.      BRUTUS  REPROACHING  CASSIUS. 

You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 

There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats : 

For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty, 

That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind. 

Which  I  respect  not.     I  did  send  to  you 

For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me ; 

For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means : 

By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart. 

And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 

From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their,  vile  trash, 


280  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

By  any,  indirection.     I  did  send 

To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions. 

Which  you  denied  me : — was  that  dojae  like  Cassius  ? 

Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 

When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 

To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends. 

Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, — 

Dash  him  to  pieces  !  Shakspkaek 


23.       CARDINAL  WOLSEy's  SOLILOQUY. 
(This  and  the  following  selection  may  be  spoken  together  or  separately.) 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  my  greatness  ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  to-day  he  puts  forth 
The  tender  leaves  of  hope ; — to-morrow,  blossoms, 
And  bears  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him : 
The  third  day  comes  a  frost — a  killing  frost ; 
And  when  he  thinks,  good  easy  man,  full  surely. 
His  greatness  is  a  ripening — nips  his  root ; 
And  then  he  falls,  as  I  do.     I  have  ventured. 
Like  little  wanton  boys  that  swim  on  bladders, 
These  many  summers  in  a  sea  of  glory — 
But  far  beyond  my  depth  :  my  high-blown  pride. 
At  length,  broke  under  me,  and  now  has  left  me. 
Weary  and  old  with  service,  to  the  mercy 
Of  a  rude  stream  that  must  forever  hide  me. 
Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  the  world,  I  hate  ye ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened.    Oh  !  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, — 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes, — and  their  ruin. 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have  ; 
And  whejvhe  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  aofain.  ci 


24.      CARDINAL  WOLSEy's  ADDRESS  TO  CROMWELL. 

Cromwell,  I  did  not  think  to  shed  a  tear. 
In  all  my  miseries  ;  but  thou  hast  forced  me. 
Out  of  thy  honest  truth,  to  play  the  woman. 


SHAKSPEAEE.  281 

Let's  dry  our  eyes,  and  thus  far  hear  me,  Cromwell ; 

And  when  I  am  forgotten,  as  I  shall  be, 

And  sleep  in  dull  cold  marble,  where  no  mention 

Of  me  more  must  be  heard  of ;  say  I  taught  thee — 

Say,  Wolsey,  that  once  trod  the  ways  of  glory. 

And  sounded  all  the  depths  and  shoals  of  honor. 

Found  thee  a  way,  out  of  his  wreck,  to  rise  in ; 

A  sure  and  safe  one — though  thy  master  missed  it. 

Mark  but  my  fall,  and  that  that  ruined  me. 

Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition ! 

By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  ;  how  can  man,  then. 

The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by't  ? 

Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee : 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 

Still,  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace. 

To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not. 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's. 

Thy  God's,  and  truth's  :  then,  if  thou  fall'st,  0  Cromwell, 

Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr.     Serve  the  king ; 

And, — Pr'ythee,  lead  me  in 

There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have  ; 

To  the  last  penny, — 'tis  the  king's.     My  robe. 

And  my  integrity  to  Heaven,  is  all 

I  dare  now  call  my  own.     O  Cromwell !  Cromwell ! 

Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 

I  served  my  king,  he  would  not,  in  mine  age. 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies.  a„.Trcnx,.», 


25.      SOLILOQUY  OF  HENRY  IV. 

O  SLEEP,  gentle  sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee. 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down. 
And  steep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ? 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs. 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee. 
And  hushed  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber. 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great. 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state. 
And  lulled  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 
0  thou  dull  god  !  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile. 


282  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

la  loathsome  beds,  and  leav'st  the  kingly  couch, 

A  watch-case  to  a  common  'lanim  bell  ? 

Wilt  thou,  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast. 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge ; 

And,  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds. 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top. 

Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 

With  deafening  clamors  in  the  slippery  shrouds. 

That,  with  the  hurly.  Death  itself  awakes  ? — 

Canst  thou,  O  partial  sleep !  give  thy  repose  » 

To  the  wet  sea-boy,  in  an  hour  so  rude, 

And  in  the  calmest  and  the  stillest  night, 

With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 

Deny  it  to  a  king  ?     Then,  happy,  lowly  clown ! 

Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown.         Shakspeaek. 


26.     SOLILOQUY  OF  RICHARD  III. 

Give  me  another  horse : — bind  up  my  wounds : — 
Have  mercy,  Jesu : — soft ;  I  did  but  dream ! — 

0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me ! — 
The  lights  burn  blue.     It  is  now  dead  midnight. — 
What  do  I  fear  ?     Myself  ?     There's  none  else  by  : 
Richard  loves  Richard ;  that  is,  I  am  I. 

Is  there  a  murderer  here  ?     "No :  yes ;  I  am. 

Then  fly.    What !    From  myself  ?    Great  reason ;  why  ? 

Lest  I  revenge.     What !     Myself  on  myself  ? 

1  love  myself  ?     Wherefore  ?     For  any  good 
That  I  myself,  have  done  unto  myself  ? 

Oh,  no,  alas  !  I  rather  hate  myself. 

For  hateful  deeds  committed  by  myself. 

I  am  a  villain :  yet  I  lie ;  I  am  not. 

Fool,  of  thyself  speak  well : — fool,  (lo  not  flatter : — 

My  conscience  hath  a  thousand  several  tongues ; 

And  every  tongue  brings  in  a  several  tale ; 

And  every  tale  condemns  me  for  a  villain. 

Perjury,  perjury,  in  tlie  highest  degree. 

Murder,  stern  murder,  in  the  direst  degree, 

Throng  to  the  bar,  crying  all.  Guilty  !  guilty ! 

I  shall  despair. — There  is  no  creature  loves  me, 


SHAKSPEARE.  283 

And,  if  I  die,  no  soul  will  pity  me : 
JSTay  ;  wherefore  should  they ;  since  that  I  myself 
Find  in  myself  no  pity  to  myself  ? — 
Methought  the  souls  of  all  that  I  had  murdered 
Came  to  my  tent,  and  every  one  did  threat 
To-morrow's  vengeance  on  the  head  of  Richard. 

Shakspeare. 


♦  27.     THE  SEVEN  AGES  OF  MAN. 

All  the  world's  a  stage. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players  : 
They  have  their  exits  and  their  entrances ; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts. 
His  acts  being  seven  ages.     At  first,  the  infant. 
Mewling  and  puking  in  the  nurse's  arms ; 
And  then,  the  whining  school-boy,  with  his  satchel, 
And  shining  morning  face,  creeping  like  snail 
Unwillingly  to  school :  And  then,  the  lover ; 
Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow  :  Then,  a  soldier  ; 
Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the  pard. 
Jealous  in  honor,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel. 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth:  And  then,  the  justice; 
In  fair  round  belly,  with  good  capon  lined. 
With  eyes  severe,  and  beard  of  formal  cut. 
Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances. 
And  so  he  plays  his  part :  The  sixth  age  shifts 
Into  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon ; 
With  spectacles  on  nose,  and  pouch  on  side ; 
His  youthful  hose,  well  saved,  a  world  too  wide 
For  his  shrunk  shank ;  and  his  big  manly  voice, 
Turning  again  toward  childish  treble,  pipes 
And  whistles  in  his  sound :  Last  scene  of  all. 
That  ends  this  strange  eventful  history. 
Is  second  childishness,  and  mere  oblivion ; 
Sans  teeth,  sans  eyes,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thing, 

SUAKSPEABK, 


284  /  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


28.     DESPAIR. 


If  thou  be'st  Death,  I'll  give  thee  England's  treasures. 

Enough  to  purchase  such  another  island, 

So  thou  wilt  let  me  live,  and  feel  no  pain. 

Bring  me  to  my  trial  when  you  will ; 

Died  he  not  in  his  bed  ?  where  should  he  die  ? 

Can  I  make  men  live,  whether  they  will  or  no  ? 

Oh  !  torture  me  no  more :  I  will  confess. 

Alive  again  ?  then  show  me  where  he  is  :  '    ^ 

I'll  give  a  thousand  pounds  to  look  upon  him. 

He  hath  no  eyes, — the  dust  hath  blinded  them. 

Comb  down  his  hair  :  look  !  look !  it  stands  upright, 

Like  lime-twigs — to  catch  my  winged  soul. 

Give  me  some  drink,  and  bid  the  apothecary 

Bring  in  the  strong  poison,  that  I  bought  of  him. 

Henceforth  let  no  man  trust  the  first  false  step 

To  guilt.     It  hangs  upon  a  precipice. 

Whose  deep  descent  in  fast  perdition  ends. 

How  far  am  I  plunged  down  beyond  all  thought 

Which  I  this  evening  framed  ! 

Consummate  horror !  guilt  beyond  a  name ! 

Dare  not  my  soul  repent.     In  thee,  repentance 

Were  second  guilt,  and  'twere  blaspheming  heaven 

To  hope  for  mercy.     My  pain  can  only  cease 

When  gods  want  power  to  punish.     Ha !  the  dawn ! 

Rise,  never  more,  O  sun !  let  night  prevail — 

Eternal  darkness  close  the  world's  wide  scene. 

And  hide  me  from  myself.  Shakspeabk 


29.     THE  ADVICE  OF  POLONIUS  TO  HIS  SON. 

Give  tliy  thoughts  no  tongue. 
Nor  any  unproportioned  thought  his  act. 
Be  thou  familiar ;  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel ; 
But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 
Of  ev'ry  new-hatched,  unfledged  comrade.    Beware 
Of  entrance  into  quarrel !  but,  being  in, 


SHAKSPEAEE.  285 

Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice  : 

Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy. 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy :  rich,  not  gaudy ; 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man. 

Neither  a  borrower,  nor  a  lender  be  ; 

For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend. 

And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This,  above  all — to  thine  own  self  be  true. 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day. 

Thou  canst  not,  then,  be  false  to  any  man.        Shakspeabe. 


30.     MERCY. 


The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained  ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven, 
Upon  the  place  beneath :  it  is  twice  blessed ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes  : 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown : 
His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power. 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  fear  and  dread  of  kings : 
But  mercy  is  above  the  sceptered  sway  ; 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's, 
When  mercy  seasons  justice :  therefore,  Jew, 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this — 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation.     We  do  pray  for  mercy ; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy :  I  have  spoke  thus  much. 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea.  g 


286  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


31.    MARK  Antony's  oration. 

Friends,  Romans,  countrymen,  lend  me  your  ears : 

I  come  to  bury  Csesar^  not  to  praise  him. 

The  evil  that  men  do  Hves  after  them  ; 

The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones  : 

So  let  it  be  with  Csesar.     The  noble  Brutus 

Hath  told  you  Caesar  was  ambitious : 

If  it  were  so,  it  was  a  grievous  fault ; 

And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 

Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest 

(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

So  are  they  all,  all  honorable  men). 

Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 

He  was  my  friend,  faithful  and  just  to  me*: 

But  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man. 

He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 

Whose  .ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 

Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious  ? 

When  that  the  poor  have  cried,  Caesar  hath  wepi : 

Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff : 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious; 

And  Brutus  is  an  hmiorable  man. 

You  all  did  see,  that  on  the  Lupercal 

I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown, 

Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 

Yet  Brutus  says  he  was  ambitious ; 

And,  sure,  he  is  an  honorable  man. 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke. 

But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 

You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause  ; 

What  cause  withholds  you  then  to  mourn  for  him  ? 

O  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts. 

And  men  have  lost  their  reason ! — Bear  with  me  ; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 

And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 

You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember 

The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 

'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent ; 

That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 

Look !  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through : 


SHAKSPEAEE. 


287 


See,  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  : 

Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed  ; 

And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Ccesar  followed  it ; 

As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 

If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked,  or  no ;  .  , 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 

Judge,  0  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him ! 

This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all : 

For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 

Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitor's  arms. 

Quite  vanquished  him  :  then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 

And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 

Even  at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 

Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Csesar  fell. 

Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 

Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down. 

Whilst  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us.         Suakspeark. 


32.      ADDRESS  OF  MARULLt>S  TO  THE  MOB. 

Wherefore  rejoice  ?  that  Caesar  comes  in  triumph  ! 

What  conquest  brings  he  home  ? 

What  tributaries  follow  him  to  Rome, 

To  grace  in  captive  bonds  his  chariot-wheels  ? 

You  blocks !  you  stones  !  you  worse  than  senseless  things ! 

Oh,  you  hard  hearts !  you  cruel  men  of  Rome  ! 

Knew  you  not  Pompey  ?     Many  a  time  and  oft 

Have  you  climbed  up  to  walls  and  battlements. 

To  towers  and  windows,  yea,  to  chimney-tops — 

Your  infants  in  your  arms — and  there  have  sat 

The  live-long  day,  -with  patient  expectation. 

To  see  great  Pompey  pass  the  streets  of  Rome  : 

And,  when  you  saw  his  chariot  but  appear. 

Have  you  not  made  a  universal  shout. 

That  Tiber  trembled  underneath  his  banks. 

To  hear  the  replication  of  your  sounds. 

Made  in  his  concave  shores  ? 

And  do  you  now  put  on  your  best  attire  ? 

And  do  you  now  cull  out  a  hohday  ? 

And  do  you  now  strew  flowers  in  his  way, 


288  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

That  comes  in  triumph  over  Pompey's  blood  ? 

Begone ! 

Run  to  your  houses !  fall  upon  your  knees  ! 

Pray  to  the  gods  to  intermit  the  plague, 

That  needs  must  light  on  this  ingratitude  !        Shakspeare. 


33.    Richmond's  address  to  his  soldiers. 

Fellows  in  arms,  and  my  most  loving  friends, 

Bruised  underneath  the  yoke  of  tyranny. 

Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 

Have  we  marched  on  without  impediment ! 

Richard,  the  bloody  and  devouring  boar, 

Whose  ravenous  appetite  has  spoiled  your  fields. 

Laid  this  rich  country  waste,  and  rudely  cropped 

Its  ripened  hopes  of  fair  prosperity. 

Is,  now,  even  in  the  centre  of  the  isle. 

God,  and  our  good  cause,  fight  upon  our  side : 

The  prayers  of  holy  saints,  and  wronged  souls. 

Like  high-reared  bulwarks,  stand  before  our  faces. 

Thrice  is  he  armed  that  has  his  quarrel  just ; 

And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 

Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted : 

The  very  weight  of  Richard's  guilt  s]iall  crush  him. 

Then  let  us  on,  my  friends,  and  boldly  face  him ! 

Advance  your  standards,  draw  your  willing  swords  : 

For  me,  the  ransom  of  my  bold  attempt 

Shall  be  this  body  on  the  earth's  cold  face  ; 

But  if  we  thrive,  the  glory  of  the  action 

The  meanest  soldier  here  shall  share  his  part  of. 

Advance  your  standards  !    Draw  your  willing  swords  ! 

Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheerfully ! 

The  words,  "  St.  George !  Richmond !  and  victory  !" 

Shaksfeare. 


34. 

Oh  !  my  offence  is  rank,  it  smells  to  heaven  ; 
It  hath  the  primal,  eldest  curse  upon  it. 


SHAKSPEAEE.  289 

A  brother's  murder  ! — ^Pray  I  cannot, 

Though  inchnation  be  as  sharp  as  'twill, 

My  stronger  guilt  defeats  my  strong  intent . 

And  hke  a  man  to  double  business  bound, 

I  stand  in  pause  where  I  shall  first  begin. 

And  both  neglect.    What  if  this  cursed  hand 

Were  thicker  than  itself  with  brother's  blood ; 

Is  there  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens 

To  wash  it  white  as  snow  ?     Whereto  serves  mercy. 

But  to  confront  the  visage  of  offence  ?  .%^ 

And  what's  in  prayer,  but  this  two-fold  force,  ^^* 

To  be  forestalled,  ere  we  come  to  fall, 

Or  pardoned  being  down  ? — Then  I'll  look  up  ; 

My  fault  is  past.     But  oh,  what  form  of  prayer 

Can  serve  my  turn  ?     "  Forgive  me  my  foul  murder  !" 

That  cannot  be ;  since  I  am  still  possessed 

Of  those  effects  for  which  I  did  the  murder. 

My  crown,  mine  own  ambition,  and  my  queen. 

May  one  be  pardoned,  and  retain  the  offence  ? 

In  the  corrupted  currents  of  this  world, 

Offence's  gilded  hand  may  shove  by  justice ; 

And  oft  'tis  seen,  the  wicked  prize  itself 

Buys  out  the  law :  but  'tis  not  so  above ; 

There,  is  no  shuffling  ;  there,  the  action  lies 

In  his  true  nature ;  and  we  ourselves  compelled, 

Even  to  the  teeth  and  forehead  of  our  faults, 

To  give  in  evidence.     What  then  ? — what  rests  ? 

Try  what  repentance  can  :  what  can  it  not  ? 

Yet  what  can  it,  when  one  cannot  repent  ? 

Oh  wretched  state  !  oh  bosom,  black  as  death  ! 

Oh  limed  soul ;  that  struggling  to  be  free, 

Art  more  engaged  !     Help,  angels !  make  assay ! 

Bow,  stubborn  knees  ;  and  heart,  with  strings  of  steel, 

Be  soft  as  sinews  of  the  new-born  babe  ! 

All  may  be  well.  Shakspeaek 


35.    CHEERFULNESS. 


'0  Let  me  play  the  fool ; 

With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come  ; 
Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within, 
Sit  like  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster  ? 
13 


290  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

Sleep  when  he  wakes  ?  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 

By  being  peevish  ?     I  tell  thee  what,  Antonio, 

I  love  thee,  and  it  is  my  love  that  speaks : 

There  are  a  sort  of  men,  whose  visages 

Do  cream  and  mantle  like  a  standing  pond ; 

And  do  a  wilful  stillness  entertain, 

With  purpose  to  be  dressed  in  an  opinion 

Of  wisdom,  gravity,  profound  conceit ; 

As  who  should  say,  /  am  Sir  Oracle, 

And,  when  I  ope  my  lips,  let  no  dog  harJc ! 

Oh,  my  Antonio,  I  do  know  of  these. 

That  therefore  only  are  reputed  wise. 

For  saying  nothing  ;  who,  I  am  very  sure. 

If  they  should  speak,  would  almost  damn  those  ears. 

Which,  hearing  them,  would  call  their  brothers  fools. 

I'll  tell  thee  more  of  this  another  time  ; 

But  fish  not  with  this  melancholy  bait. 

For  this  fool's  gudgeon,  this  opinion.  Shaksp»«^» 


36.    hamlet's  soliloquy. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question ; — 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 

And,  by  opposing,  end  them  ?     To  die, — to  sleep, — 

No  more  ; — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to  :  'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  die, — to  sleep  ; — 

To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream  ; — ay,  there's  the  rub ' 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come. 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil. 

Must  give  us  pause.     There's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life  ; 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumelv. 

The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay,       9r 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes. 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 


SHAKSPEARE.  291 

With  a  bare  bodkin  ?     Who  would  fardels  bear, 

To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 

The  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 

No  traveller  returns, — puzzles  the  will. 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have. 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all ; 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 

And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment. 

With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry. 

And  lose  the  name  of  action.  Shakspearh 


37.      ROYAL  CEREMONY. 

O,  HARD  condition !  twin-born  with  greatness  ; 

Subjected  to  the  breath  of  every  fool, 

Whose  sense  no  more  can  feel  but  his  own  wringing. 

What  infinite  heart's  ease  must  kings  neglect. 

That  private  men  enjoy  ! 

And  what  have  kings  that  privates  have  not  too. 

Save  ceremony — save  general  ceremony  ? 

And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony  ? . 

What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  sufferest  more 

Of  mortal  griefs  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 

What  are  thy  rents  ?  what  are  thy  comings  in  ? 

O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth  ! 

What  is  thy  soul  of  adoration  ? 

Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 

Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men  ? 

Wherein  thou  art  less  happy,  being  feared. 

Than  they  in  fearing.  • 

What  drinkest  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet. 

But  poisoned  flattery  ?     Oh,  be  sick,  great  greatness, 

And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure  ! 

Thinl^est  thou,  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 

Witn  titles  blown  from  adulation  ? 

Will  it  give  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending  ?  ' 

Canst  thou,  when  thou  commandest  the  beggar's  knee. 

Command  the  health  of  it  ?     No,  thou  proud  dream, 


4 


292  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

That  playest  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose  : 

I  am  a  king  that  find  thee  ;  and  I  know, 

'Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball. 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial, 

The  inter- tissued  robe  of  gold  and  pearl. 

The  farced  title  running  *fore  the  king. 

The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 

That  beats  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world,— 

No,  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony — 

Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical. 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave. 

Who,  with  a  body  filled,  and  vacant  mind. 

Gets  him  to  rest,  crammed  with  distressful  bread  ; 

Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell ; 

But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set. 

Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 

Sleeps  in  Elysium ;  next  day,  after  dawn. 

Doth  rise,  and  help  Hyperion  to  his  horse ; 

And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year 

With  profitable  labor,  to  his  grave  : 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Winding  up  days  with  toil,  and  nights  with  sleep, 

Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king.        Shakspeabk 


38.      SOLILOQUY  OF  KING  HENRY  VI. 

O  God  !  methinks  it  were  a  happy  life. 

To  be  no  better  than  a  homely  swain ; 

To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  now. 

To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point. 

Thereby  to  see  the  minutes  how  they  run : 

How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete. 

How  many  hours  bring  about  the  day. 

How  many  days  will  finish  up  the  year. 

How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 

When  this  is  known,  then  to  divide  the  times : 

So  many  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock ' 

So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate ; 

So  many  hours  must  I  sport  myself ; 

So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young  , 


SnAKSPEAKE.  293 

So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean ; 

So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece  : 

So  minutes,  hours,  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years, 

Passed  oyer  to  the  end  they  were  created. 

Would  bring  white  hairs  unto  a  quiet  grave. 

Ah,  what  a  life  were  this  !  how  sweet !  how  lovely  ? 

Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 

To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  sheep. 

Than  doth  a  rich  embroidered  canopy 

To  kings,  that  fear  their  subjects  treachery  ? 

Oh,  yes  it  doth  ;  a  thousand-fold  it  doth ! 

And  to  conclude, — the  shepherd's  homely  curds, 

His  cold  thin  drink  out  of  his  leather  bottle, 

His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  shade, — 

All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys. 

Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  delicates. 

His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup. 

His  body  couched  in  a  curious  bed, 

When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason  wait  on  him. 

SHAKSPEARXi 


39.      CLARENCE  S  DREAM. 

Oh,  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night. 

So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 

That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faithful  man, 

I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 

Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days  ; 

So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time. 

Methought  that  I  had  broken  from  the  Tower, 

And  was  embarked  to  cross  to  Burgundy, 

And,  in  my  company,  my  brother  Gloster ; 

Who  from  my  cabin  tempted  me  to  walk 

Upon  the  hatches :  thence  we  looked  towards  England, 

And  cited  up  a  thousand  heavy  times. 

During  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 

That  had  befallen  us.     As  we  paced  along 

Upon  the  giddy  footing  of  the  hatches, 

Methought  that  Gloster  stumbled ;  and  in  falling. 

Struck  me,  that  thought  to  stay  him,  overboard 

Into  the  tumbling  billows  of  the  main. 

O  Lord  !  methought  what  pain  it  was  to  drown : 


294:  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


ru 


What  dreadful  noise  of  water  in  my  ears  : 

What  sights  of  ugly  death  within  mine  eyes  ! 

Methought  I  saw  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks ; 

A  thousand  men,  that  fishes  gnawed  upon ; 

Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl. 

Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels. 

All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea  : 

Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls ;  and  in  those  holes 

Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 

(As  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes)  reflecting  gems. 

That  wooed  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep. 

And  mocked  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by. 

Oh,  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soul ! 

I  passed,  methought,  the  melancholy  flood. 

With  that  grim  ferryman  which  poets  write  of. 

Unto  the  kingdom  of  perpetual  night. 

The  first  that  there  did  greet  my  stranger  soul. 

Was  my  great  father-in-law,  renowned  Warwick, 

Who  cried  aloud, — What  scourge  for  perjury 

Can  this  dark  monarchy  afford  false  Clarence  ?  / 

And  so  he  vanished :    Then  came  wand'ring  by 

A  shadow  like  an  angel,  with  bright  hair 

Dabbled  in  blood,  and  he  shrieked  out  aloud, — 

Clarence  is  come — false,  fleeting,  perjured  Clarence,  \ 

That  stabbed  me  in  the  field  by  Tewksbury  ;  y^ 

Seize  on  him,  furies,  take  him  to  your  torments  !  h  \ 

With  that,  methought  a  legion  of  foul  fiends  j    ' 

Environed  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears  / 

Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise,  / 

I  trembling  waked,  and,  for  a  season  after. 

Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  heU  : 

Such  terrible  inipression  made  my  dream.        Shakspeae*! 


40.   MARMION  AND  THE  DOUGLAS. 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 
When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride  ; 
He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 
Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand, 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide. 


WALTER  SCOTT 


The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew  ; 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu : — 

"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest. 

While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid ; 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 
And,  noble  earl,  receive  my  hand." 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak. 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke : — 
"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 
Be  open  at  my  sovereign's  will. 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer : 
My  castles  are  my  king's  alone. 
From  turret  to  foundation-stone, — 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own ; 
And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." 
Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire. 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And—"  This  to  me !"  he  said :  ^ 
**  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas*  head  ! 
And  first,  I  tell  thee,  haugbtyHeer, 
He  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  nieanest  in  her  state, 
Mayw^ell,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate : 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here. 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride. 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword), 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  saidst,  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near. 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied  !" 
On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age  ; 
Fierce  he  broke  forth  : — "  And  darest  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 


296  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 

And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 

No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ! 

Up  drawbridge,  grooms — what,  warder,  ho  ! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." 
Lord  Marmion  turned — well  was  his  need, 
And  dashed  the  rowels  in  his  steed. 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung. 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room. 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

Walter  Scorra, 


41.      THE  DEATH  OF  MARMION. 

With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 
Two  horsemen  drenched  with  gore. 

And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 
A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 

His  hand  still  strained  the  broken  brand ; 

His  arms  were  smeared  with  blood  and  sand ; 

Dragged  fro\n  among  the  horses'  feet. 

With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat. 

The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone. 

Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion  ? 

When,  doffed  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air. 

Around  *gan  Marmion  wildly  stare  : 

"  Where's  Harry  Blount  ?    Fitz-Eustacc  where  ? 

Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare ! 

Redeem  my  pennon — charge  again ! 

Cry — *  Marmion  to  the  rescue  !' — Vain  I 

Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 

That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again ! — 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's — fly ! 

Must  I  bid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets !  fly ! 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay  : 

With  fruitless  labor  Clara  bound. 

And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound : 

The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares. 

Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers. 

Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear. 


WALTER  SCOTT.  297 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear ; 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
*'  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying !" 

So  the  notes  rung  : — 
"  Avoid  thee,  Fiend ! — with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand  ! 
Oh  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine  ; 

Oh  think  on  faith  and  bhss ! 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen. 

But  never  aught  like  this." 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  gale. 

And — Stanley  !  was  the  cry. 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  : 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade. 

And  shouted  "  Victory  ! — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge  !    On,  Stanley,  on !" 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion.  Walter  Scow. 


42.     THE  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY. 

Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 

Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ?" 

Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned. 

As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned. 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ? 

If  such  there  breathe,  go  mark  him  well : 

For  him,  no  minstrel  raptures  swell ; 

High  though  his  titles,  power,  or  pelf. 

The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self. 

Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown. 

And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 

To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung. 

Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung.  ^^^^^^  g^^^ 

13* 


298  SELECTIONS  IN  TOETKY. 


43.       KIENZl's  ADDRESS  TO  THE  ROMANS. 

Friends, 
I  come  not  here  to  talk.     Ye  know  too  well 
The  story  of  our  thraldom.     We  are  slaves  ! 
The  bright  sun  rises  to  his  course,  and  lights 
A  race  of  slaves ! — He  sets,  and  his  last  beam 
Falls  on  a  slave.     Not  such  as,  swept  along 
By  the  full  tide  of  power,  the  conqueror  leads 
To  crimson  glory  and  undying  fame  ; 
But  base  ignoble  slaves — slaves  to  a  horde 
Of  petty  despots,  feudal  tyrants ;  lords, 
Rich  in  some  dozen  paltry  villages ; 
Strong  in  some  hundred  spearmen,  only  great 
In  that  strange  spell,  a  name.     Each  hour,  dark  fraud. 
Or  open  rapine,  or  protected  murder. 
Cry  out  against  them.     But  this  very  day, 
An  honest  man — my  neighbor ; — there  he  stands  ; — 
Was  struck — struck  like  a  dog — by  one  who  wore 
The  badge  of  Ursini ;  because,  forsooth. 
He  tossed  not  high  his  ready  cap  in  air, 
Nor  hfted  up  his  voice  in  servile  shouts. 
At  sight  of  that  great  ruffian.     Be  we  men. 
And  suffer  such  dishonor  ? — men,  and  wash  not 
The  stain  away  in  blood  ?    Such  shames  are  common : 
I  have  known  deeper  wrongs, — I  that  speak  to  yc. 
I  had  a  brother  once,  a  gracious  boy. 
Full  of  all  gentleness,  of  calmest  hope, 
Of  sweet  and  quiet  joy.     Oh,  how  I  loved 
That  gracious  boy !     Younger  by  fifteen  years  : 
Brother  at  once  and  son  !     He  left  my  side  ; 
A  summer-bloom  on  his  fair  cheeks,  a  smile 
Parting  his  innocent  lips.     In  one  short  hour. 
The  pretty  harmless  boy  was  slain  !     I  saw 
His  corse,  his  mangled  corse ;  and  then  I  cried 

For  vengeance Bouse  ye,  Romans  !  rouse  ye,  slaves ! 

Have  ye  brave  sons  ?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fau'  daughters  ?    Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms — distained, 
Dishonored  ;  and  if  ye  dare  to  call  for  justice. 
Be  answered  with  the  lash !     Yet  this  is  Rome 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world  !     And  we  are  Romans ! 


MAJJY  E.  MITFOED. ADDISON.  299 

Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 

Was  greater  than  a  king  !     And  once  again, — 

Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 

Of  either  Brutus!— Once  again,  I  swear, 

The  Eternal  City  shall  be  free  !  jj^^^  ^  Mitforo. 


44.     SPEECH  OF  SEMPRONIUS  FOR  WAR. 

My  voice  is  still  for  war. 
Gods  !  can  a  Roman  senate  long  debate, 
Which  of  the  two  to  choose — slavery  or  death  ? 
No  ;  let  us  rise  at  once,  gird  on  our  swords. 
And,  at  the  head  of  our  remaining  troops. 
Attack  the  foe  ;  break  through  the  thick  array 
Of  his  thronged  legions,  and  charge  home  upon  him. 
Perhaps  some  arm  more  lucky  than  the  rest 
May  reach  his  heart,  and  free  the  world  from  bondage. 
Rise,  fathers,  rise !  'tis  Rome  demands  your  help ; 
Rise,  and  revenge  her  slaughtered  citizens. 
Or  share  their  fate  !     The  corpse  of  half  her  senate 
Manure  the  fields  of  Thessaly,  while  we 
Sit  here,  deliberating  in  cold  debates. 
If  we  should  sacrifice  our  lives  to  honor, 
Or  wear  them  out  in  servitude  and  chains. 
Rouse  up,  for  shame  !  our  brothers  of  Pharsalia 
Point  at  their  wounds,  and  cry  aloud,  "  To  battle ! 
Great  Pompey's  shade  complains  that  we  are  slow. 
And  Scipio's  ghost  walks  unrevcnged  amongst  us  ! 


45.      SPEECH  OF  LUCIUS  FOR  PEACE. 

My  thoughts,  I  must  confess,  are  turned  on  peace. 

Already  have  our  quarrels  filled  the  world 

With  widows  and  with  orphans.     Scythia  mourns 

Our  guilty  wars,  and  earth's  remotest  regions 

Lie  half  unpeopled  by  the  feuds  of  Rome. 

'Tis  time  to  sheathe  the  sword  and  spare  mankind. 

It  is  not  Ceesar,  but  the  gods,  my  fathers  : 


'300  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

The  gods  declare  against  us,  and  repel 

Our  vain  attempts.     To  urge  the  foe  to  battle 

(Prompted  by  blind  revenge  and  wild  despair), 

Were  to  refuse  the  awards  of  Providence, 

And  not  to  rest  in  heaven's  determination. 

Already  have  we  shown  our  love  to  Rome  : 

Now  let  us  show  submission  to  the  gods. 

We  took  up  arms,  not  to  revenge  ourselves. 

But  free  the  commonwealth :  when  this  end  fails, 

Arms  have  no  further  use-; — our  country's  cause. 

That  drew  our  swords,  now  wrests  them  from  our  hands^- 

And  bids  us  not  delight  in  Roman  blood 

Unprofitably  shed.     What  men  could  do 

Is  done  already  :  heaven  and  earth  will  witness. 

If  Rome  must  fall,  that  we  are  innocent.  » 


46.      SPEECH  OF  CATO. 

Let  us  appear  nor  rash  nor  diffident : 

Immoderate  valor  swells  into  a  fault ; 

And  fear,  admitted  into  public  councils. 

Betrays,  like  treason.     Let  us  shun  them  both. 

Fathers,  I  cannot  see  that  our  affairs 

Are  grown  thus  desperate  :  we  have  bulwarks  round  us ; 

Within  our  walls  are  troops,  inured  to  toil 

In  Afric's  heats,  and  seasoned  to  the  sun : 

Numidia's  spacious  kingdom  lies  behind  us. 

Ready  to  rise,  at  its  young  prince's  call. 

While  there  is  hope,  do  not  distrust  the  gods ; 

But  wait,  at  least,  till  Caesar's  near  approach 

Force  us  to  yield.     'Twill  never  be  tdo  late 

To  sue  for  chains  and  own  a  conqueror. 

Why  should  Rome  fall  a  moment  ere  her  time  ? 

No,  let  us  draw  her  term  of  freedom  out. 

In  its  full  length,  and  spin  it  to  the  last. 

So  shall  we  gain  still  one  day's  liberty  ; 

And  let  me  perish  ;  but,  in  Cato's  judgment, 

A  day,  an  hour,  of  virtuous  liberty. 

Is  worth  a  whole  eternity  in  bondage.  . 


ALBERT  G.  GREENE.  301 


47.      THE  baron's  last  BANQUET. 

O'er  a  low  coucli  the  setting  sun  had  thrown  its  latest  ray, 
Where,  in  hiu  last  strong  agony,  a  dying  warrior  lay — 
The  stern  old  Baron  Rudiger,  whose  frame  had  ne'er  been  bent 
By  wasting  pain,  till  time  and  toil  its  iron  strength  had  spent. 

*'  They  come  around  me  here,  and  say  my  days  of  life  are  o'er, 
That  I  shall  mount  my  noble  steed,  and  lead  my  band  no  more  ; 
They  come,  and,  to  my  beard,  they  dare  to  tell  me  now  that  I, 
Their  own  Hege  lord  and  master  born,  that  1 — ha  !  ha ! — must 
die. 

"  And  what  is  death  ?     I've  dared  him  oft,  before  the  Paynim 

spear ; — 
Think  ye  he's  entered  at  my  gate — has  come  to  seek  me  here  ? 
I've  met  him,  faced  him,  scorned  him,  when  the  fight  was  raging 

hot  ;— 
I'll  try  his  might — I'll  brave  his  power  ;  defy,  and  fear  him  not. 

*'  Ho  !  sound  the  tocsin  from  my  tower,  and  fire  the  culverin  ; 
Bid  each  retainer  arm  with  speed :  call  every  vassal  in. 
Up  with  my  banner  on  the  wall, — the  banquet-board  prepare, — 
Throw  wide  the  portal  of  my  hall,  and  bring  my  armor  there  !" 

An  hundred  hands  were  busy  then :    the  banquet  forth  was 

spread. 
And  rung  the  heavy  oaken  floor  with  many  a  martial  tread ; 
While  from  the  rich,  dark  tracery,  along  the  vaulted  wall,  ■ 
Lights  gleamed  on  harness,  plume,  and  spear,  o'er  the  proud 

old  Gothic  hall. 

Fast    hurrying    through  the  outer  gate,  the  mailed   retainers 

poured. 
On  through  the  portal's  frowning  arch,  and  thronged  around  the 

board ; 
While  at  its  head,  within  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair  of  state. 
Armed  cap-a-pie,  stern  Rudiger,  with  girded  falchion,  sate. 

**  Fill  every  beaker  up,  my  men, — pour  forth  the  cheering  wine  ! 
There's  life  and  strength  in  every  drop — thanksgiving  to  the 

vine ! 
Are  ye  all  there,  my  vassals  true  ? — mine  eyes  are  waxing  dim : 
Fill  round,  my  tried  and  fearless  ones,  each  goblet  to  the  brim  ! 


i502  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

**  Ye're  there ;  but  yet  I  see  ye  not.     Draw  forth  each  trusty 

sword. 
And  let  me  hear  your  faithful  steel  clash  once  around  my  board 
I  hear  it  faintly.     Louder  yet ! — What  clogs  my  heavy  breath  ? 
Up  all,  and  shout  for  Rudiger,  *  Defiance  unto  Dcj^th !'  " 

Bowl  rang  to  bowl,  steel  clanged  to  steel,  and  rose  a  deafening 

cry. 
That  made  the  torches  flare  around,  and  shook  the  flags  on  high. 
"  Ho !  cravens,  do  ye  fear  him  ? — Slaves,  traitors,  have  ye  flown  ? 
Ho !  cowards,  have  ye  left  me  to  meet  him  here  alone  ? 

'*  But  I  defy  him : — ^let  him  come  !"  Down  rang  the  massy  cup. 
While  from  its  sheath  the  ready  blade  came  flashing  half-way  up  ; 
And,  with  the  black  and  heavy  plumes,  scarce  trembling  on  his 

head, 
Tliere,  in  his  dark,  carved,  oaken  chair,  old  Rudiger  sat  dead. 

Albert  G.  Greenk. 


48.      BERNARDO  AND  KING  ALPHONSO. 

With  some  good  ten  of  his  chosen  men, 

Bernardo  hath  appeared. 
Before  them  all  in  the  palace  hall. 

The  lying  king  to  beard  ; 
With  cap  in  hand  and  eye  on  ground. 

He  came  in  reverend  guise, 
But  ever  and  anon  he  frowned, 

And  flame  broke  from  his  eyes. 

"  A  curse  upon  thee,"  cries  the  king, 

"  Who  com'st  unbid  to  me  ! 
But  what  from  traitor's  blood  should  spring. 

Save  traitor  like  to  thee  ? 
His  sire,  lords,  had  a  traitor's  heart, — 

Perchance  our  champion  brave 
May  think  it  were  a  pious  part 

To  share  Don  Sancho's  grave." 

"  Whoever  told  this  tale. 

The  king  hath  rashness  to  repeat," 
Cries  Bernard,  "  here  my  gage  I  fling 

Before  the  liar's  feet. 


J.  G.  LOCEHAKT.  303 

No  treason  was  in  Sancho's  blood, — 

No  stain  in  mine  doth  lie : 
Below  the  throne,  what  knight  will  own 

The  coward  calumny  ? 

"  Ye  swore  upon  your  kingly  faith, 

To  set  Don  Sancho  free ; 
But,  curse  upon  your  paltering  breath  ! 

The  light  he  ne'er  did  see  : 
He  died  in  dungeon  cold  and  dim, 

By  Alphonso's  base  decree ; 
And  visage  blind,  and  mangled  limb. 

Were  all  they  gave  to  me. 

*  The  king  that  swerveth  from  his  word, 

Hath  stained  his  purple  black  : 
N'o  Spanish  lord  shall  draw  his  sword 

Behind  a  liar's  back. 
But  noble  vengeance  shall  be  mine ; 

And  open  hate  I'll  show ; — 
The  king  hath  injured  Carpio's  line, 

And  Bernard  is  his  foe!" 

"  Seize — seize  him  !"  loud  the  king  doth  scream : 

"  There  are  a  thousand  here  ; 
Let  his  foul  blood  this  instant  stream  ; — 

What !  caitiffs,  do  ye  fear  ? 
Seize — seize  the  traitor !"     But  not  one 

To  move  a  finger  daretli : 
Bernardo  standeth  by  the  throne. 

And  calm  his  sword  he  bareth. 

He  drew  the  falchion  from  its  sheath. 

And  held  it  up  on  high  ; 
And  all  the  hall  was  still  as  death : — 

Cries  Bernard,  "  Here  am  I ; 
And  here's  the  sword  that  owns  no  lord, 

Excepting  heaven  and  me  : 
Fain  would  I  know  who  dares  its  point, — 

King,  conde,  or  grandee." 

Then  to  his  mouth  his  horn  he  drew, — 

It  hung  below  his  cloak  ; 
His  ten  true  men  the  signal  knew. 

And  through  the  ring  they  broke. 


304  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

With  helm  on  head,  and  blade  in  hand. 

The  knights  the  circle  break, 
And  back  the  lordhngs  'gan  to  stand, 

And  the  false  king  to  quake. 

**  Ha  !  Bernard  !"  quoth  Alphonso, 
■  **  What  means  this  warlike  guise  ? 
Ye  knoM^  full  well  I  jested  ; — 

Ye  know  your  worth  I  prize  !" 
But  Bernard  turned  upon  his  heel. 

And,  smiling,  passed  away. 
Long  rued  Alphonso  and  Castile 

The  jesthiff  of  that  day  !  j^  q_  Lockhaui 


49.     THE  TAKING  OF  WARSAW. 

When  leagued  Oppression  poured  to  northern  wars 
Her  whiskered  pandoors  and  her  fierce  hussars. 
Waved  her  dread  standard  to  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Pealed  her  loud  drum,  and  twanged  her  trumpet  horn 
Tumultuous  horror  brooded  o'er  her  van, 
Presaging  wrath  to  Poland — and  to  man ! 

Warsaw's  last  champion,  from  her  height  surveyed 
Wide  o'er  the  fields,  a  waste  of  ruin  laid, — 
Oh !  Heaven !  he  cried,  my  bleeding  country  save  : 
Is  there  no  hand  on  high  to  shield  the  brave  ? 
Yet,  though  destruction  sweep  these  lovely  plains. 
Rise,  fellow-men !  our  country  yet  remains ! 
By  that  dread  name,  we  wave  the  sword  on  high. 
And  swear  for  her  to  live ! — with  her  to  die ! 

He  said,  and  on  the  rampart-heights  arrayed 
His  trusty  warriors  few,  but  undismayed ! 
Firm-paced  and  slow,  a  horrid  front  they  form. 
Still  as  the  breeze,  but  dreadful  as  the  storm ; 
Low,  murmuring  sounds  along  their  banners  fly, 
Revenge  or  death, — the  watchword  and  reply ; 
Then  pealed  the  notes,  omnipotent  to  charm. 
And  the  loud  tocsin  tolled  their  last  alarm ! — 

In  vain,  alas !  in  vain,  ye  gallant  few. 
From  rank  to  rank  your  volleyed  thunder  flew :— 


CAMPBELL. — BRYANT.  305 

Oh !  bloodiest  picture  in  the  book  of  Time, 
Sarmatia  fell,  unwept,  without  a  crime  ; 
Found  not  a  generous  friend,  a  pitying  foe. 
Strength  in  her  arms,  nor  mercy  in  her  woe  ! 
Dropped  from  her  nerveless  grasp  the  shattered  spear, 
Closed  her  bright  eye,  and  curbed  her  high  career : — 
Hope,  for  a  season,  bade  the  world  farewell. 
And  Freedom  shrieked — as  Kosciusko  fell. 

The  sun  went  down,  nor  ceased  the  carnage  there : 
Tumultuous  murder  shook  the  midnight  air — 
On  Prague's  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow. 
His  blood-dyed  waters  murmuring  far  below : 
The  storm  prevails,  the  ramparts  yield  away. 
Bursts  the  wild  cry  of  horror  and  dismay ; 
Hark !  as  the  smouldering  piles  with  thunder  fall, 
A  thousand  shrieks  for  hopeless  mercy  call ! 
Earth  shook — red  meteors  flashed  along  the  sky. 
And  conscious  nature  shuddered  at  the  cry ! 

Departed  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead  ! 
Ye  that  at  Marathon  and  Leuctra  bled ! 
Friends  of  the  world !  restore  your  swords  to  man. 
Fight  in  his  sacred  cause,  and  lead  the  van ! 
Yet  for  Sarmatia's  tears  of  blood  atone. 
And  make  her  arm  puissant  as  your  own ! 
Oh !  once  again  to  Freedom's  cause  return 
The  patriot  Tell — the  Bruce  of  Bannock''  xm ! 

Campbelu 


50.     THE  SONG  OF  MARIOn's  MEN. 

Our  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried,- 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  green  wood. 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree  ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us. 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines. 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass. 


306  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

Its  safe  and  silent  islands 
Within  the  dark  morass. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light,  at  midnight, 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear : 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire. 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain. 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind. 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads' — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles. 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'Tis  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain ; 
*Tis  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — 

A  moment— and  away. 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band. 

With  kindliest  welcoming. 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer. 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more. 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton 

Forever  from  our  shore. 


Beyant. 


H.  W.  LONGFELLOW.  307 


51.     THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree. 

The  village  smithy  stands ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he. 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long ; 

His  face  is  like  the  tan  ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat ; 

He  earns  whatever  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  out,  week  in,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

You  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge. 
With  measured  beat  and  slow. 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  old  kirk  chimes, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children,  coming  home  from  school, 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  : 
They  love  to  see  a  flaming  forge. 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks,  that  fly 

Like  chaff"  from  a  tkreshing-floor. 

He  goes,  on  Sunday,  to  the  church. 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach. 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir. 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave  she  hes  ; 
And  with  his  hard  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  from  out  his  eyes. 


308  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 

Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing, 

Onward  through  hfe  he  goes : 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done, 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Tlius,  at  the  flaming  forge  of  Life, 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus,  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped. 
Each  burning  deed,  and  thought. 

H.  W.  Longfellow. 


52.      ALARIC  THE  VISIGOTH. 

Alaric  stormed  and  spoiled  the  city  of  Rome,  and  wan  afterwards  bnried  in  the  channel  ot 
the  river  Busentins,  tiie  water  of  which  had  been  diverted  from  its  course  that  the  bod» 
might  be  interred. 

When  I  am  dead,  no  pageant  train 
Shall  waste  their  sorrows  at  my  bier. 

Nor  worthless  pomp  of  homage  vain 
Stain  it  with  hypocritic  tear ; 

For  I  will  die  as  I  did  hve. 

Nor  take  the  boon  I  cannot  give. 

Ye  shall  not  pile,  with  servile  toil. 

Your  monuments  upon  my  breast. 
Nor  yet  within  the  common  soil 

Lay  down  the  wreck  of  power  to  rest ; 
Where  man  can  boast  that  he  has  trod 
On  him  that  was  **  the  scourge  of  God." 

But  ye  the  mountain  stream  shall  turn, 

And  lay  its  secret  channel  bare. 
And  hollow,  for  your  sovereign's  urn, 

A  resting-place  forever  there  : 
Then  bid  its  everlasting  springs 
.    Flow  back  upon  the  king  of  kings  ; 
And  never  be  the  secret  said. 
Until  the  deep  give  up  his  dead. 


EDWAED  EVERETT.  309 

My  gold  and  silver  ye  shall  fling 

Back  to  the  clods,  that  gave  them  birth ; 

The  captured  crowns  of  many  a  king, 
The  ransom  of  a  conquered  earth : 

For,  e'en  though  dead,  will  I  control 

The  trophies  of  the  capitol. 

My  course  was  like  a  river  deep, 

And  from  the  northern  hills  I  burst 
Across  the  world,  in  wrath  to  sweep  ; 

And  where  I  went  the  spot  was  cursed. 
Nor  blade  of  grass  again  was  seen 
Where  Alaric  and  his  hosts  had  been. 

Not  for  myself  did  I  ascend 

In  judgment  my  triumphal  car ; 
*Twas  God  alone  on  high  did  send 

The  avenging  Scythian  to  the  war, 
To  shake  a"^oad,  with  iron  hand. 
The  appointed  scourge  of  his  command. 
With  iron  hand  that  scourge  I  reared 

O'er  guilty  king  and  guilty  realm ; 
Destruction  was  the  ship  I  steered. 

And  vengeance  sat  upon  the  helm, 
When,  launched  in  fury  on  the  flood, 
I  ploughed  my  way  through  seas  of  blood, 
And,  in  the  stream  their  hearts  had  spilt, 
Washed  out  the  long  arrears  of  guilt. 

Across  the  everlasting  Alp 

I  poured  the  torrent  of  my  powers. 
And  feeble  Caesars  shrieked  for  help. 

In  vain,  within  their  seven-hilled  towers : 
I  quenched  in  blood  the  brightest  gem 
That  glittered  in  their  diadem. 
And  struck  a  darker,  deeper  dye 
In  the  purple  of  their  majesty. 
And  bade  my  northern  banners  shine 
Upon  the  conquered  Palatine. 

My  course  is  ran,  my  errand  done  ; 

I  go  to  Him  from  whom  I  came  ; 
But  never  yet  shall  set  the  sun 

Of  glory  that  adorns  my  name ; 


310  SELEcrroNS  in  poetry. 

And  Roman  hearts  shall  long  be  sick, 
When  men  shall  think  of  Alaric. 

My  course  is  run,  my  errand  done ; 

But  darker  ministers  of  fate. 
Impatient,  round  the  eternal  throne. 

And  in  the  caves  of  vengeance,  wait ; 
And  soon  mankind  shall  blench  away 
Before  the  name  of  Attila.  j,^^^^  ^yj,^^. 


53.      WOODMAN,  SPARE  THAT  TREB. 

Woodman,  spare  that  tree  ! 

Touch  not  a  single  bough  ! 
In  youth  it  sheltered  me, 

And  I'll  protect  it  now. 
'Twas  my  forefather's  hand 

That  placed  it  near  his  cot ; 
There,  woodman,  let  it  stand. 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not ! 

That  old  familiar  tree, 

Whose  glory  and  renown 
Are  spread  o'er  land  and  sea. 

And  wouldst  thou  hew  it  down ' 
Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke  ! 

Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties ; 
Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak. 

Now  towering  to  the  skies ! 

When  but  an  idle  boy 

I  sought  its  grateful  shade  ; 
In  all  their  gushing  joy 

Here  too  my  sisters  played. 
My  mother  kissed  me  here ; 

My  father  pressed  my  hand — 
Forgive  this  foohsh  tear. 

But  let  that  old  oak  stand ! 

My  heart-strings  round  thee  cling. 
Close  as  thy  bark,  old  friend ! 

Here  shall  the  wild- bird  sing. 
And  still  thy  branches  bend. 


GEORGE  P.  MOERIS. — WILLIAM  D.  GALLAGHER.  311 

Old  tree  !  the  storm  still  brave  ! 

And,  woodman,  leave  the  spot ; 
While  I've  a  hand  to  save, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not!     Geoegk  P. Morris. 


54,    THE  chieftain's  daughter. 
y 
Upon  the  barren  sand 

A  single  captive  stood. 
Around  him  came,  with  bow  and  brand, 

The  red  men  of  the  wood. 
Like  him  of  old,  his  doom  he  hears. 

Rock-bound  on  ocean's  rim  ; 
The  chieftain's  daughter  knelt  in  tears, 

And  breathed  a  prayer  for  him. 

Above  his  head  in  air. 

The  savage  war-club  swung. 
The  frantic  girl,  in  wild  despair, 

Her  arms  about  him  .flung. 
Then  shook  the  warriors  of  the  shade, 

Like  leaves  on  aspen  limb. 
Subdued  by  that  heroic  maid 

Who  breathed  a  prayer  for  him. 

"  Unbind  him !"  gasped  the  chief, 

"  Obey  your  king's  decree !" 
He  kissed  away  her  tears  of  grief. 

And  set  the  captive  free. 
*Tis  ever  thus,  when  in  life's  storm, 

Hope's  star  to  man  grows  dim. 
An  angel  kneels  in  woman's  form. 

And  breathes  a  prayer  for  him.   g^„^^^  p^  ^^^^^ 


55.      THE  MOTHERS  OF  THE  WEST. 

The  mothers  of  our  forest-land  ! 

Stout-hearted  dames  were  they ; 
With  nerve  to  wield  the  battle-brand. 

And  join  the  border  fray. 


312  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

Our  rough  land  had  no  braver. 

In  its  days  of  blood  and  strife — 
Aye  ready  for  severest  toil, 

Aye  free  to  peril  life. 

The  mothers  of  our  forest-land  ! 

On  old  Kentucky's  soil 
How  shared  they,  with  each  dauntless  band, 

War's  tempest  and  life's  toil ! 
They  shrank  not  from  the  foeman — 

They  quailed  not  in  the  fight — 
But  cheered  their  husbands  through  the  day, 

And  soothed  them  through  the  night. 

The  mothers  of  our  forest-land ! 

Their  bosoms  pillowed  men ! 
And  proud  were  they  by  such  to  stand, 

In  hammock,  fort,  or  glen, 
To  load  the  sure  old  rifle — 

To  run  the  leaden  ball — 
To  watch  a  battling  husband's  place, 

And  fill  it,  should  he  fall ! 

The  mothers  of  our  forest-land ! 

Such  were  their  daily  deeds : 
Their  monument ! — where  does  it  stand  ? 

Their  epitaph ! — who  reads  ? 
No  braver  dames  had  Sparta, 

No  nobler  matrons  Rome — 
Yet  who  or  lauds  or  honors  them. 

E'en  in  their  own  green  home  ? 

The  mothers  of  our  forest-land ! 

They  sleep  in  unknown  graves  : 
And  had  they  borne  and  nursed  a  band 

Of  ingrates,  or  of  slaves. 
They  had  not  been  more  neglected  ! 

But  their  graves  shall  yet  be  found, 
And  their  monuments  dot  here  and  there 

"  The  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground." 

William  D.  GALLAGHEa. 


W.  H.  C.  HOSMEK,  3t3 


56.     THE  INDIAN  COUNCIL. 

The  trunks  of  oaken  monarchs,  huge  and  tall. 
Were  the  rough  columns  of  the  Council  Hall ; 
Thick  boughs  were  interwoven  overhead, 
And  winds  made  music  with  their  leafy  pall : 
Below,  a  tangled  sea  of  brushwood  spread, 
Through  which,  to  far-oflf  wild,  the  beaten  war-path  led. 

Few  were  the  whites  in  number,  and  about 
The  council-fire  were  gathered  dusky  throngs 
From  whose  dark  bosoms  time  had  not  washed  out 
The  bitter  memory  of  recent  wrongs. 
Some  longed  to  wake  their  ancient  battle-songs, 
And  on  the  reeking  spoils  of  conflict  gaze — 
Bind  the  pale  captive  to  the  stake  with  thongs, 
And  hellish  yells  of  exultation  raise, 
While  shrivelled  up  his  form,  and  blackened  in  the  blaze. 

The  compact  for  a  cession  of  their  land 
Was  nearly  ended,  when  a  far-famed  chief 
Rose  with  the  lofty  bearing  of  command. 
Though  lip  and  brow  denoted  inward  grief : 
Naught  broke  the  silence  save  the  rustling  leaf 
And  the  low  murmur  of  the  lulling  wave ; 
He  drew  his  blanket  round  him,  and  a  brief 
But  proud  description  of  his  fathers  gave. 
Then  spoke  of  perished  tribes  and  glory  in  the  grave. 

"  And  who  be  ye  ?"  he  said  in  scornful  tones. 
And  glance  of  kindling  hate — "  who  offer  gold 
For  hunting-grounds  made  holy  by  the  bones 
Of  our  great  seers  and  sagamores  of  old  ? 
Men  who  would  have  our  hearths  and  altars  cold — 
Unstring  the  bow,  and  break  the  hunting-spear— 
Our  pleasant  huts  with  sheeted  flame  enfold, 
Then  drive  our  starving,  wailing  race  in  fear 
Beyond  the  western  hills,  like  broken  herds  of  deer  ! 

"Wake,  On-gue-hon-we  !  strike  the  painted  post. 
And  gather  quickly  for  the  conflict  dire  ; 
Yon  Long-Knives  are  forerunners  of  a  host 
Thick  as  the  sparks  when  prairies  are  on  fire  : 
Let  childhood  grasp  the  weapon  of  his  sire — 
14 


814  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

Arm,  arm  for  deadly  struggle,  one  and  all. 
While  wives  and  babes  to  secret  haunts  retu-e  ; 
The  ghosts  of  buried  fathers  on  ye  call 
To  guard  their  ancient  tombs  from  sacrilege,  or  fall  !'* 

Dark  forms  rose  up,  and  brows  began  to  lower. 
While  many  a  savage  eye  destruction  glared ; 
But  one  came  forth  in  that  portentous  hour, 
Ere  shaft  was  aimed,  or  dagger  fully  bared. 
And  hushed  the  storm.     Old  Honneyawus  dared 
His  voice  upraise ;  and  by  his  friendly  aid 
The  knife  was  sheathed,  the  pioneer  was  spared. 
Above  that  humane  warrior  of  the  shade 
Let  marble  tell  the  tale  in  lines  that  cannot  fade. 

W.  H.  C.  HOSMEB. 


57.     THE  PIONEERS  OF  AMERICA. 

Our  hardy  pioneers,  the  men  who — nursed 

Amid  the  blooming  fields  of  cultured  lands — 

Forsook  the  scenes  of  infancy,  and  first 

With  hearts  of  lofty  daring  and  strong  hands 

Pierced  old  primeval  groves — by  hunter  bands. 

And  beasts  of  carnage  tenanted  alone — 

And  lit  their  camp-fires  on  the  lonely  strands 

Of  lakes  and  seas,  to  geographer  unknown. 

Deserve  the  bard's  high  lay,  the  sculptor's  proudest  stone. 

Noblest  of  human  conquerors  were  they ! 

For,  mighty  though  the  bonds  that  bound  the  heart 

To  home  and  its  endearments,  far  away 

From  mourning  kindred  and  the  crowded  mart, 

And  earth  for  funeral  uses  set  apart. 

Where  lay  their  honored  dead  in  solemn  rest, 

They  bore  the  precious  seed  of  useful  art 

To  wild,  benighted  regions  of  the  West ; 

Since  the  creation-day  in  unpruned  beauty  dressed. 

Let  ruin  lift  his  arm,  and  crush  in  dust 
The  glittering  sarcophagus  of  kings. 
And,  changing  crown  and  sceptre  into  nisi# 
Doom  them  to  sleep  among  forgotten  things  ; 
Let  Time  o'ershadow  with  his  dusky  wings 


W.  H.  C.  HOSMEE.  315 

Warriors  who  guilty  eminence  have  gained, 
And  drank  renown  at  red,  polhited  springs — 
Sacked  peaceful  towns — the  holy  shrine  profaned — 
And  to  their  chariot  wheels  the  groaning  captive  chained : 

But  the  self-exiled  Britons  who  behind 

Left  transatlantic  luxuries,  and  gave 

Their  parting  salutations  to  the  wind. 

And,  scorning  the  vile  languor  of  the  slave. 

Rocked  with  the  little  May  Flower  on  the  wave, 

To  immortality  have  prouder  claim. 

Let  the  bright  Muse  of  History  engrave 

Their  names  in  fadeless  characters  of  flame, 

And  give  their  wondrous  tales  an  eveilasting  fame. 

No  empty  vision  of  unbounded  power — 

No  dream  of  wild  romance — no  thirst  for  gold 

Lured  them  from  merry  England's  hall  and  bower. 

Her  Sabbath  chime  of  bells,  her  hamlet  old  : 

At  home  religious  bigotry  controlled 

The  struggling  wing  of  thought ;  a  gloomy  cloud. 

Charged  with  despotic  wrath,  above  them  rolled  ; 

And  haunts  they  sought  where  man  might  walk  unbowed. 

And  sacred  truth  might  raise  her  warning  voice  aloud. 

W.  H.  C.  HOSMER 


58.      THE  INDIAN  TRIBES. 

Tribes  of  the  Indian  League  !  from  ancient  seats 

Swept  by  the  whites  like  Autumn  leaves  away 
Faint  are  your  records  of  heroic  feats, 

And  few  the  traces  of  your  former  sway ; 
Loved  woodland  haunts,  deep,  shadowy,  and  gray, 

No  longer  wave  defiance  to  the  roar 
And  rush  of  whirlwinds  'mid  their  cool  retreats  ; 

The  wild  beast  harbors  in  their  depths  no  more. 
And  ploughmen  turn  the  glebe  they  darkly  clothed  of  yore. 

Tribes  of  the  Mighty !  dwindled  to  a  few. 

Dejected,  trampled  children  of  despair; 
And  only  like  your  ancestors  in  hue, 

And  the  wild  beauty  of  their  flowing  hair ; 


316  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

With  laughter  rude  inquisitors  lay  bare 

The  ghastly  secrets  of  your  green  old  graves, 
To  molder,  piecemeal,  in  dissolving  air ; 
Forgetful  of  past  glory,  when  your  braves 
Surrounding  nations  made  poor,  weak,  dependent  slaves. 

Where  are  your  hoary  Magi — wrinkled  seers — 

Clad  in  their  dread  apparelhng,  who  made 
Rude,  rocky  altars,  stained  and  mossed  with  years. 

And  held  terrific  orgies  in  the  shade  ? 
Where  is  the  phant  oar  of  slender  blade 

That  urged  the  birchen  vessel  on  the  stream  ? 
Long  council  halls  with  cedar  bark  o'erlaid  ? 

Gone,  like  the  shapes  that  populate  a  dream, 
Or  twinkhng  dew,  drunk  up  by  mom's  effulgent  beam  : 

And  where  those  whooping  legions,  fierce  and  free. 

Who  back  the  tide  of  French  invasion  bore. 
Defeating  warriors  trained  beyond  the  sea. 

And  bathing  guarded  Montreal  in  gore  ? 
Their  day  of  power  is  ended,  and  no  more 

Ring  out  their  paeans  louder  than  the  sound 
Of  booming  waters  on  an  iron  shore. 

While  captive  hundreds,  bleeding,  faint,  and  bound, 
Expira  in  flame,  or  fall  transpierced  by  many  a  wound. 

Where  are  your  thrilling  orators,  who  caught 

Their  eloquence  from  nature,  and  allied 
Wild  powers  of  fancy  to  the  glow  of  thought. 

And  grace  of  gesture  to  ancestral  pride  ? 
Their  sylvan  voices  on  the  wind  have  died  : 

And  your  last  master  of  the  honeyed  tone. 
Commanding  port  and  gesture  dignified, 

No  longer  wails  an  empire  overthrown. 
And  near  his  couch  of  dust,  Niagara  makes  moan. 

W.  H.  C.  HOSMER. 


59.     DEATH  S  MISSION. 

Go,  Death,  to  thy  mission  !  The  mandate  was  given. 

And  the  echo  rolled  back  through  the  chambers  of  heaven, 

Then  faint  in  the  distance  its  mutterings  grew. 

And  a  being  of  horror  came  forth  to  my  view ! 

He  seemed  one  commissioned  for  terrible  deeds. 


C.  W.  EVEREST.  317 

For  dark  was  his  chariot,  and  pale  were  his  steeds ; 
One  hand  grasped  a  sceptre,  the  other  a  dart, 
And  the  glow  of  his  eye  told  the  pride  of  his  heart ; 
The  Sun,  at  his  glance,  shed  a  sicklier  ray. 
And  Nature,  astonished,  in  fear  shrunk  away ; 
The  heavens  grew  black  at  his  pestilent  breath. 
And  owned  him  the  monarch  invincible— Death  ! 
He  cast  a  proud  glance  over  Earth's  happy  throng, 
And  breathed  to  the  Nations  his  horrible  song : 

"  I  am  lord  of  the  Earth  ;  I  am  lord  of  the  Main ; 

All  Nature  I  hold  in  my  withering  chain  : 

From  my  shadowy  realm,  in  the  chambers  of  night, 

I  will  come  on  my  pathway  of  mildew  and  blight : 

The  surest  destruction  'tis  mine  to  impart ; 

My  arrow  shall  pierce  to  the  manliest  heart ; 

I  will  shroud  man's  proud  hopes  in  the  darkness  of  gloom. 

And  bear  him  from  all  that  he  loves,  to  the  tomb ! 

"  I  will  visit  the  couch  of  the  mother's  first-born. 

And  the  mother,  despairing,  shall  sorrow  forlorn  ; 

I  will  tear  the  fond  wife  from  her  little-ones'  clasp, 

She  must  come  at  my  call,  she  must  shrink  from  their  grasj) ; 

The  father,  though  dear  to  the  group  of  his  heart. 

From  his  wife  and  his  infants  forever  must  part : 

In  the  hall  of  affection  my  banner  shall  wave — 

I  am  lord  of  the  Earth,  I  am  lord  of  the  Grave ! 

"  I  will  visit  the  sage,  when,  through  night's  lonely  hours. 

O'er  the  lore  of  past  ages  devoutly  he  pores ; 

He  shall  cease  his  pursuits,  he  must  molder  to  dust — 

No  learning  can  save — I  am  true  to  my  trust ! 

I  will  come  to  the  dungeon,  an  angel  of  peace, 

And  grant  to  the  captives  a  joyful  release  ; 

Their  chains  cannot  bind,  they  will  come  at  my  call, 

And  sorrow  no  longer  shall  hold  them  in  thrall ! 

"■  I  will  curb  mad  Ambition,  when  wading  through  blood. 
And  mounting  the  throne  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  good ; 
I  will  call  upon  avarice,  toiling  for  dust ; 
His  treasures,  forsaken,  neglected  shall  rust : 
The  scoflPer  shall  start  at  my  coming,  and  quail. 
And  the  stoutest  transgressor  turn  suddenly  pale  : 

"  Mortal !  proud  mortal !  prepare  for  my  call :  » 

Thou  shalt  sleep,  at  the  last,  'neath  my  curtaining  pall ! 


318  SELECTIONS  m  POETRY. 

I  will  come — the  dread  herald  of  woe  to  the  gay, 
When  the  giddy  and  careless  will  think  me  away ! 
I  will  come — and  the  hall  shall  be  shrouded  with  gloom. 
And  arrayed  with  the  emblems  of  Death  and  the  tomb  ! 
Be  prepared  !  that  my  summons  shall  cause  no  affright — 
For  my  arrow  is  noiseless — my  footstep  is  light !" 

C.  "W.  EVEKEST 


60.    death's  triuiiphs. 

I  WILL  spare  neither  innocence  nor  truth  ; 
The  aged,  the  manly,  nor  childhood,  nor  youth  ; 
The  monarch  will  find  that  no  sceptre  can  save  ; 
The  beggar  must  go  down  with  me  to  the  grave ; 
The  sad  and  forlorn,  with  the  happy  and  gay. 
Must  leave  all  behind  them,  and  hasten  away : 
Man  alike  is  my  prey,  nor  shall  favor  be  shown — 
I  will  give  each  an  arrow,  a  pall,  and  a  stone ! 

I  will  visit  the  proud  one,  exulting  in  state. 
Who  shall  spurn  the  poor  beggar  that  kneels  at  his  gate  : 
I  will  humble  his  might ;  I  will  sadden  his  hall ; 
And  his  couch  shall  be  spread  with  my  funeral  pall ! 
I  will  come  to  the  orphan,  despised  and  rejected ; 
I  will  visit  the  widow,  by  false  friends  neglected  ; 
And  the  lordlings  who  left  them  in  sorrow  to  sigh. 
By  conscience  affrighted,  despairing  shall  die ! 

I  will  go  where  is  echoed  the  bacchanal's  song. 

And  enter,  unseen,  with  the  revelling  throng : 

Woe  !  woe  !  when  the  red  wine  by  me  shall  be  poured. 

The  lights  shall  go  out  round  the  festival  board  ! 

I  will  visit  the  gamester's  low  hall  of  despair, 

And  alas  for  the  lip  that  shall  welcome  me  there : 

The  wild  curse  of  horror  no  more  shall  be  said. 

But  the  blood-gushing  bosom  be  crushed  'neath  my  tread ! 

I  will  visit  the  good  man,  to  sickness  a  prey. 
And  bid  him  prepare  for  a  happier  day  ! 
He  will  not  be  affrighted,  but  welcome  me  on ; 
He  is  tired  of  the  world,  and  he  longs  to  be  gone ; 
He  knows  I  will  calm  all  the  woes  of  his  breast. 
And  bear  him  away  to  a  mansion  of  rest  [^ 


C.  W.  EVEREST. — ^JOim  G.  WHITTIEK.  319 

He  will  not  plead  to  linger  where  pleasure  is  sad, 
But  will  smile  at  my  presence,  look  up,  and  be  glad ! 

Thus  boasted  the  Monarch,  and  onward  he  rode. 
To  bear  his  destruotion  in  terror  abroad ! 
His  shafts,  all  unerring,  sped  fatal  and  wide. 
And  the  dead  and  the  dying  fell  thick  by  his  side ; 
No  pity  could  move  him,  no  terror  could  stay. 
But  to  Death's  silent  valley  he  bore  them  away. 

I  looked  o'er  creation  :  where,  where  was  her  throng. 

So  giddy  in  pleasure,  so  happy  in  song  ? 

Ah !  their  glad  hearts  were  stifled,  and  hushed  was  their  breath; 

For  Earth's  countless  millions  were  sleeping  in  death ; 

There  were  "heaps  upon  heaps"  of  the  mangled  and  slain — 

The  Tyrant  had  boasted,  nor  boasted  in  vain  ! 

'Twas  a  horrible  scene ;  not  a  breath — not  a  groan — 

And  Death,  the  proud  victor,  was  stalking  alone ! 

C.  "W.  Everest. 


61.      THE  AGED  PRISONER. 

Look  on  him  ! — through  his  dungeon  grate, 

Feebly  and  cold,  the  morning  light 
Comes  steahng  round  him  dim  and  late, 

As  though  it  loathed  the  sight. 
Reclining  on  his  strawy  bed. 
His  hand  upholds  his  drooping  head — 
His  bloodless  cheek  is  seamed  and  hard. 
Unshorn  his  gray,  neglected  beard  ; 
And  o'er  his  bony  fingers  flow 
His  long,  dishevelled  locks  of  snow. 

No  grateful  fire  before  him  glows. 
And  yet  the  winter's  breath  is  chill ; 

And  o'er  his  half-clad  person  goes 
The  frequent  ague  thrill ! 

Silent,  save  ever  and  anon, 

A  sound,  half  murmur  and  half  groan. 

Forces  apart  the  painful  grip 

Of  the  old  suflerer's  bearded  lip  ; 

Oh,  sad  and  crushing  is  the  fate 

Of  old  age,  chained  and  desolate  ! 


320  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

Just  God  !  why  lies  that  old  man  there  ? 

A  murderer  shares  his  prison  bed, 
Whose  eyeballs,  through  his  horrid  hair. 

Gleam  on  him  fierce  and  red ; 
And  the  rude  oath  and  heartless  je^r 
Fall  ever  on  his  loathing  ear. 
And,  or  in  wakefulness  or  sleep, 
Nerve,  flesh,  and  pulses  thrill  and  creep 
Whene'er  that  ruffian's  tossing  limb. 
Crimson  with  murder,  touches  him  ? 

What  has  the  gray-haired  prisoner  done  ? 

Has  murder  stained  his  hands  with  gore  ? 
God  made  the  old  man  poor ! 

For  this  he  shares  a  felon's  cell — 
The  fittest  earthly  type  of  hell ! 
For  this  boon,  for  which  he  poured 
His  young  blood  on  the  invader's  sword, 
And  counted  light  the  fearful  cost — 
His  blood-gained  liberty  is  lost  1 

And  so,  for  such  a  place  of  rest, 

Old  prisoner,  dropped  thy  blood  as  rain 
On  Concord's  field,  and  Bunker's  crest. 

And  Saratoga's  plain  ? 
Look  forth,  thou  man  of  many  scars. 
Through  thy  dim  dungeon's  iron  bars ; 
It  must  be  joy,  in  sooth,  to  see 
Yon  monument  upreared  to  thee — 
Piled  granite  and  a  prison  cell — 
The  land  repays  thy  service  well ! 

Go,  ring  the  bells,  and  fire  the  guns. 
And  fling  the  starry  banner  out ; 

Shout  "  Freedom !"  till  your  lisping  ones 
Give  back  their  cradle  shout ; 

Let  boasting  eloquence  declaim 

Of  honor,  liberty,  and  fame  ; 

Still  let  the  poet's  strain  be  heard, 

With  glory  for  each  second  word. 

And  every  thing  with  breath  agree 
--3s<ro  praise  "  our  glorious  liberty." 

But  when  the  patriot  cannon  jars 
That  prison's  cold  and  gloomy  wall. 


JOHN  G.  WHITTIEE. G.  W.  PATTEN.  321 

And  througli  its  grates  the  stripes  and  stars 

Kise  on  the  wind  and  fall — 
Think  ye  that  prisoner's  aged  ear 
Rejoices  in  the  general  cheer  ? 
Think  ye  his  dim  and  failing  eye 
Is  kindled  at  your  pageantry  ? 
Sorrowing  of  soul,  and  chained  of  limb, 
What  is  your  carnival  to  him  ? 

Down  with  the  law  that  binds  him  thus  ! 

Unworthy  freemen,  let  it  find 
No  refuge  from  the  withering  curse 

Of  God  and  human  kind  ! 
Open  the  prison's  living  tomb. 
And  usher  from  its  brooding  gloom 
The  victims  of  your  savage  code. 
To  the  free  sun  and  air  of  God  : 
No  longer  dare  as  crime  to  brand 
The  chastening  of  the  Almighty's  hand. 

John  G.  Whiitibbi 


62.    THE  Seminole's  reply. 

Blaze,  with  your  serried  columns  ! 

I  will  not  bend  the  knee  ! 
The  shackles  ne'er  again  shall  bind 

The  arm  which  now  is  free. 
I've  mailed  it  with  the  thunder. 

When  the  tempest  muttered  low  , 
And  where  it  falls,  ye  well  may  dread 

The  hghtning  of  its  blow  ! 

I've  scared  ye  in  the  city, 

I've  scalped  ye  on  the  plain ; 
Go,  count  your  chosen,  where  they  fell 

Beneath  my  leaden  rain ! 
I  scorn  your  proffered  treaty  ! 

The  pale-face  I  defy ! 
Revenge  is  stamped  upon  my  spear. 

And  blood  my  battle  cry  ! 

Some  strike  for  hope  of  booty, 
Some  to  defend  their  all, — 
14* 


322  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

I  battle  for  the  joy  I  have 
To  see  the  white  man  fall : 

I  love,  among  the  wounded, 
To  hear  his  dying  moan. 

And  catch,  while  chanting  at  his  siatj, 
The  music  of  his  groan. 

Ye've  trailed  me  through  the  forest, 

Ye've  tracked  me  o'er  tlie  stream  ; 
And  struggling  through  the  everglade. 

Your  bristling  bayonets  gleam  ; 
But  I  stand  as  should  the  warrior, 

With  his  rifle  and  his  spear ; 
The  scalp  of  vengeance  still  is  red. 

And  warns  ye — Come  not  here ! 

I  loathe  ye  in  my  bosom, 

I  scorn  ye  with  mine  eye, 
And  I'll  taunt  ye  with  my  latest  breath. 

And  fight  ye  till  I  die  ! 
I  ne'er  will  ask  ye  quarter. 

And  I  ne'er  will  be  your  slave  ; 
But  I'll  swim  the  sea  of  slaughter. 

Till  I  sink  beneath  its  wave  ! 


G.  W.  Paitbr 


63.      BEAUTY  EVERYWHERE. 

Adoring  souls  some  beauty  find 

In  every  humble  nook, 
In  every  line  some  glowing  thought 

Through  all  of  Nature's  book ; 
Enrapt,  they  hear  the  Eternal's  voice 

In  thunders  of  the  storm, 
They  see  his  Spirit  hovering  o'er 

The  mountain's  misty  form  ; 
They  fancy  heavenly  symphonies 

Inspire  the  nightingale. 
They  see  angelic  footprints  on 

The  violets  of  the  vale. 

Each  moment  fleeting  past,  gives  some 
New  beauty  joyous  birth. 


EDWAED  C.  MAESHALL.  323 

Some  glories  of  the  azure  dome 

Or  iris  hues  of  earth  ; 
The  music  of  the  purling  rill. 

The  sweetly  slumbering  lake, 
The  wild  swan,  round  whose  downy  breast 

The  dashing  ripples  break. 
The  skylark's  lonely  path  on  high. 

Each  leaflet's  tiny  scroll, 
Have  all  its  deepest  raptures  waked 

Within  the  loving  soul. 

'Tis  sweetest  solace  thus  to  hear, 

Through  Nature's  canopy, 
Unceasing  swell  the  choral  strams 

In  melting  harmony 
Sent  forth  from  all  created  things. 

In  holy  stillness  breathing 
A  rapture  on  the  attuned  ear, 

A  story  ever  wreathing. 
Or  in  the  grandeur  of  the  storm. 

Or  when  the  dew-drop  ghstens, 
Of  teachings  fraught  with  truth  divine 

To  every  one  that  listens.         ^^^^^  ^^  Maeshali. 


64.      OUR  COUNTRY. 

Our  country !  lovely  are  her  hills, 
And  peaceful  are  her  vales. 

Wealth  flows  where'er  her  yeoman  tills, 
Health  freights  her  balmy  gales. 

Her  gallant  tars  sail  o'er  the  seas 

And  visit  every  strand, 
Her  banner  floats  on  every  breeze. 

Her  praise  o'er  every  land. 

Where  famine  reigns,  or  kings  oppress, 

She  sends  her  kind  relief. 
She  soothes  the  orphan's  sore  distress. 

And  stills  the  widow's  grief. 

Our  country  !  hallowed  be  the  name — 
Courageous  were  our  sires, — 


324  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

To  noble  deeds  their  glorious  fame 
The  patriot's  bosom  fires. 

They  braved  the  tempest  and  the  flood, 

They  met  the  battle's  fray, 
They  pledged  their  honor  and  their  blood 

On  freedom's  natal  day. 

Our  country  summons  every  son 

To  join  the  choral  throng. 
For  freedom's  battles  fought  and  won 

To  raise  the  lofty  song. 

Loud  swell  the  anthem's  joyful  sound 

Within  the  sacred  dome, — 
And  tell  each  nation  far  around 

Here  Freedom  has  her  home. 

Edward  C.  M.vrs»am» 


C5.     WORK. 


Work  is  the  sweet  of  earth's  sad  life ; 

Work  is  a  hymn  of  praise, 
That  wings  its  flight  o'er  sounds  of  strife. 

To  the  Ancient  One  of  days. 

Work  yields  thee  peace  from  every  foe, 

A  balm  for  every  sorrow ; 
It  soothes  with  joy  thy  thoughts  of  woe, 

And  cheers  with  hope  thy  morrow. 

The  Father's  work,  rejoicing  came 

The  Saviour  to  perform  ; 
To  heal  the  sick,  restore  the  lame. 

And  bless  the  souls  who  mourn. 

Wouldst  learn  of  faith,  or  joy  or  love  ? 

By  steadfast  work  thou'lt  know 
The  mysteries  of  heaven  above. 

Or  of  the  earth  below. 

Work  on  !  work  on  !  ye  sons  of  toil ; 

Your  guerdon  this  shall  be, — 

While  here  ye  sweat,  and  toil,  and  moil. 

Ye  win  eternity !  ti  r^  ^ 

^  Edward  C.  Maeshali. 


J.  OTIS  KOCKWELL.  32^ 


66.      THE  DRAM-DRINKER. 


Pray,  Mr.  Dram-drinker,  how  do  you  do  ? 

What  in  perdition's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

How  did  you  come  by  that  bruise  on  the  head  ? 

Why  are  your  eyes  so  infernally  red  ? 

Why  do  you  mutter  that  infidel  hymn  ? 

Why  do  you  tremble  in  every  limb  ? 

Who  has  done  this  ? — let  the  reason  be  shown, 

And  let  the  offender  be  pelted  with  stone. 

And  the  Dram-drinker  said,  "  If  you  listen  to  me. 

You  shall  hear  what  you  hear,  and  see  what  you  see. 

"  I  had  a  father ; — the  grave  is  his  bed : 

I  had  a  mother ; — she  sleeps  with  the  dead. 

Truly  I  wept  when  they  left  me  alone  ; 

But  I  shed  all  my  tears  on  their  grave  and  their  stone. 

I  planted  a  willow,  I  planted  a  yew. 

And  left  them  to  sleep  till  the  last  trumpet  blew. 

Fortune  was  mine  ;  I  mounted  her  car — 

Pleasure  from  virtue  had  beckoned  me  far. 

Onward  I  went,  like  an  avalanche,  down. 

And  the  sunshine  of  fortune  was  changed  to  a  frown. 

**  Fortune  was  gone,  and  I  took  to  my  side 
A  young,  and  a  lovely,  and  beautiful  bride  ! 
Her  I  entreated  with  coldness  and  scorn — 
Tarrying  back  till  the  break  of  the  morn  ; 
Slighting  her  kindness,  and  mocking  her  fears — 
Casting  a  blight  on  her  tenderest  years  i 
Sad,  and  neglected,  and  weary  I  left  her  : 
Sorrow  and  care  of  her  reason  bereft  her  ; 
T^ill,  like  a  star,  when  it  falls  from  its  pride. 
She  sunk  on  the  bosom  of  misery,  and  died. 

"  I  had  a  child,  and  it  grew  like  a  vine ; — 
Fair  as  the  rose  of  Damascus  was  mine  : 
Fair — and  I  watched  over  her  innocent  youth, 
As  an  angel  of  heaven  would  watch  over  truth. 
She  grew  like  her  mother,  in  feature  and  form ; 
Her  blue  eye  was  languid,  her  cheek  was  too  warm. 
Seventeen  summers  had  shone  on  her  brow — 
The  seventeenth  winter  beheld  her  laid  low ! 
Yonder  they  sleep  in  their  graves,  side  by  side — 
A  father,  a  mother,  a  daughter,  a  bride." 


326  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

Go  to  your  children,  and  tell  them  the  tale : 
Tell  them  his  cheek,  too,  was  lividly  pale  ; 
Tell  them  his  eye  was  bloodshot  and  cold  ; 
Tell  them  his  purse  was  a  stranger  to  gold  ; 
Tell  them  he  passed  through  the  world  they  are  in 
The  victim  of  sorrow,  and  misery,  and  sin ; 
Tell  them,  when  life's  shameful  conflicts  were  past. 
In  horror  and  anguish  he  perished  at  last. 

J.  Otis  Rockwell. 


67.      THE  DEATH-FIRE. 

Beneath  the  ever  dense  and  leafy  gloom 

Of  the  hushed  wilderness,  a  lurid  flame 

Crept,  like  a  serpent,  gorged  with  kindling  blood, 

Around  the  knotted  trunk  of  an  old  forest  oak ; 

Then  upward  and  abroad  it  fiercely  spread 

Through  the  dusk  pine-tops  and  the  clinging  vines, 

Till  the  dark  forest  crimsoned  with  the  glare. 

Strong  winds  swept  through  the  hot  and  crackling  boughs. 

While  scintillating  sparks — a  fiery  rain — 

Fell  from  the  arrowy  flames  that  darted  through 

The  black  and  smoky  air. 

In  double  ranks,  around  that  flaming  tree. 

Sat  fierce-browed  warriors,  like  a  crowd  of  fiends, 

Sent  forth  to  hold  their  orgies  on  the  earth. 

Their  shafted  arrows,  and  the  sinewy  bow. 

The  tomahawk,  and  club,  and  keen-edged  knife. 

Flashed  back  the  fire,  and  there  all  hotly  gleamed 

In  the  tall  grass,  that,  coiled  all  crisply  back. 

Grew  stiff  and  died  on  the  scorched  earth. 

The^  sparkling  river,  flowing  with  sweet  chime. 

So  cool  and  tranquil  in  its  verdant  banks. 

In  gentle  contrast  with  the  flaming  trees. 

And  the  red  demons  crouching  underneath, 

Mocked  the  devoted  victims. 

One  was  a  girl,  so  gently  fair. 

She  seemed  a  being  of  upper  air, 

Lured  by  the  sound  of  the  waters'  swell. 

To  the  haunt  of  demons  dark  and  fell ! 

Shackled  by  many  a  galling  thong, 

But  in  Christian  courage  firm  and  strong. 


ANN  S.  STEPHENS. T.  B.  IVIACAULAY.  327 

Stood  a  brave  man,  with  his  eye  on  fire. 

As  he  bent  its  glance  on  the  funeral  pyre  ; — 

Yet  his  bosom  heaved  and  his  heart  beat  quick ; 

His  labored  breath  came  fast  and  thick ; 

His  cheek  grew  pale,  and  drops  of  pain 

Sprang  to  his  brow,  like  beaded  rain. 

As  he  felt  the  clasp  of  his  pallid  bride, 

Where  she  clung  in  fear  to  his  prisoned  side. 

A  savage  shout — a  fierce,  deep  yell — 

Rings  up  through  the  forest,  cove,  and  dell : 

The  wood  is  alive  on  either  hand 

With  the  i-ushing  feet  of  that  murderous  band. 

One  start  from  the  earth — one  feeble  cry. 

Like  the  moan  of  a  fawn  when  the  hounds  are  nigh — 

And  she  sinks  to  the  ground  with  a  shuddering  thrill. 

And  lies  at  his  feet  all  cold  and  still. 

With  the  mighty  strength  of  his  stem  despair, 

Like  a  hon  roused  in  his  guarded  lair. 

The  youth  has  rended  his  bonds  apart — 

The  bride  is  snatched  to  his  throbbing  heart ! 

With  a  bound  he  clears  the  savage  crew, 

And  plunges  on  toward  the  bark  canoe. 

He  nears  the  bank — a  ■fiendish  scream 

From  the  baffled  foes  rings  o'er  the  stream : 

He  springs  to  the  bark  ; — away,  away  ! — 

It  is  lost  from  sight  in  the  flashing  spray  ! 

Ann  S.  Stephens. 


68.      THE  BATTLE  OF  IVRY. 

Oh  !  how  our  hearts  were  beating. 

When  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
We  saw  the  army  of  the  League 

Drawn  out  in  long  array  ; 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens, 

And  all  its  rebel  peers. 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantiy. 

And  Egmont's  Flemish  spears. 
There  rode  the  brood  of  false  Lorraine, 

The  curses  of  our  land  ! 
And  dark  Mayenne  was  in  the  midst, 

A  truncheon  in  his  hand  ; 


328  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

And,  as  we  looked  on  them,  we  thought 

Of  Seine's  empurpled  flood. 
And  good  Coligni's  hoary  hair 

All  dabbled  with  his  blood  ; 
And  we  cried  unto  the  living  God, 

Who  rules  the  fate  of  war, 
To  fight  for  his  own  holy  name, 

And  Henry  of  Navarre. 

The  king  is  come  to  marshal  us. 

In  all  his  armor  drest. 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-white  plume 

Upon  his  gallant  crest. 
He  looked  upon  his  people. 

And  a  tear  was  in  his  eye  ; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors. 

And  his  glance  was  stern  and  high. 
Right  graciously  he  smiled  on  us. 

As  rolled  from  wing  to  wing, 
Down  all  our  line  in  deafening  shout, 

"  God  save  our  lord,  the  king." 
"  And  if  my  standard-bearer  fall. 

As  fall  full  well  he  may — 
For  never  saw  I  promise  yet 

Of  such  a  bloody  fray — 
Press  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine. 

Amidst  the  ranks  of  war, 
•         And  be  your  oriflamme  to-day 

The  helmet  of  Navarre  !" 

Hurrah  !  the  foes  are  moving  ! 

Hark  to  the  mingled  din 
Of  fife,  and  steed,  and  trump,  and  drum, 

And  roaring  culverin ! 
The  fieiy  duke  is  pricking  fast 

Across  Saint  Andre's  plain, 
With  all  the  hirehng  chivalry 

Of  Guelders  and  Almayne. 
Now  by  the  lips  of  those  ye  love, 

Fair  gentlemen  of  France, 
Charge  for  the  golden  lilies  now. 

Upon  them  with  the  lance  ! 
A  thousand  spurs  are  striking  deep, 

A  thousand  spears  in  rest. 


T.  B.  MACAULAY. — PHILIP  J.  BAILEY.  329 

A  thousand  knights  are  pressing  close 

Behind  the  snow-white  crest ; 
And  in  they  burst,  and  on  they  rushed, 

While,  like  a  guiding  star. 
Amidst  the  thickest  carnage  blazed 

The  helmet  of  Navarre. 

Now,  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours ! 

Mayenne  hath  turned  his  rein  ; 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter — 

The  Flemish  count  is  slain. 
Their  ranks  are  breaking,  like  thin  clouds 

Before  a  Biscay  gale  : 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds. 

And  flags,  and  cloven  mail ; 
And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance. 

And  all  along  our  van, 
"  Remember  St.  Bartholomew," 

Was  passed  from  man  to  man ; 
But  out  spake  gentle  Harry, 

**  No  Frenchman  is  my  foe  : 
Down,  down  with  every  foreigner ; 

But  let  your  brethren  go." 
Oh  !  was  there  ever  such  a  knight. 

In  friendship  or  in  war. 
As  our  sovereign  lord.  King  Henry, 

The  soldier  of  Navarre  !  ^^  ^  Maoai^t 


69.     THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH. 

'TwAS  night :  over  earth  like  a  pall  was  thrown 
Thickest  darkness.     Blent  with  the  thunder's  tone 
Were  the  torrent's  rush,  and  the  wind's  wild  moan. 

And  the  wail  of  the  ocean  wave. 
'Twas  then  that  grim  death,  clad  in  terror  and  gloom. 
Left  his  cheerless  home  in  the  dreary  tomb. 
To  summon  the  old  and  the  young  to  their  doom. 

In  the  land  of  the  dreamless  grave. 

He  lifted  the  latch  of  a  cottage  door. 
Where  a  widowed  mother  is  bending  o'er — 


330  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

With  looks  that  the  fulness  of  sorrow  wore — 

The  child  of  her  early  love. 
And  meekly  she  bowed  in  the  dying  hour — 
*Twas  her  Father's  will  that  the  fragile  flower 
Remove  from  the  blight  of  an  early  bower 

To  the  garden  of  God  above. 

Then  away  he  flew  with  fiendish  glee ! 
"  I  will  visit  the  house  of  mirth,"  said  he : 
"  'Tis  seldom  they  meet  with  a  guest  like  me 

In  the  blaze  of  the  festive  hall." 
The  spectre  brandished  his  blood-stained  lance. 
The  revellers  shrank  from  his  withering  glance, 
And  a  blackened  corse  in  the  mazy  dance. 

Struck  down  was  the  "  belle  of  the  ball  1" 

In  the  banqueting  hall  of  a  castle  old 
Sat  a  stalwart  warrior,  grim  and  bold, 
As  rugged  and  gray  as  his  own  stronghold, 

And  the  last  of  an  ancient  hne. 
The  falcon  eye  of  the  stern  old  knight 
Lit  up  with  a  wild  unearthly  light, 
As  he  Hfted  on  high  the  goblet  bright 

Brim-full  of  the  purple  wine. 

He  had  scoffed  at  death  on  the  blood-red  plain, 
'Mid  the  bristling  steel  and  the  leaden  rain  ; 
He  had  laughed  to  scorn,  on  the  land  and  main. 

The  shell  and  the  booming  shot : 
With  the  wine-cup  now  in  his  nervous  grasp, 
He  is  seized  in  the  spectre's  icy  clasp ; 
One  groan  of  horror — a  shudder — a  gasp — 

And  the  warrior  chief  is  not. 

Thus,  the  Angel  of  Death  remorseless  flings 
The  blighting  shade  of  his  leaden  wings 
O'er  the  cottage  low  and  the  domes  of  kings : 

Over  all  he  asserts  his  power. 
Learn  wisdom  then :  let  your  life  attest 
That  death  will  not  come  an  unwelcome  guest : 
Seek  now  the  love  that  will  make  you  blest 

In  the  gloom  of  thy  dying  hour. 

When  the  pulses  of  life  beat  faint  and  slow. 
And  the  spirit  is  struggling,  and  pants  to  go. 
The  richest  baubles  that  tempt  below 


PHILIP  J.  BAILEY. — K.  M.  C.  331 

But  deepen  the 'gathering  gloom  ; 
But  light  divine,  with  heavenly  ray. 
Will  guide  the  soul  on  the  radiant  way 
To  the  chme  of  the  blest,  forever  and  aye 

To  live  in  Eternity's  bloom. 

Philip  J.  Bailey  :  (Festus.) 


70.     THE  MADMAN. 

Many  a  year  hath  passed  away. 
Many  a  dark  and  dismal  year. 
Since  last  I  roamed  in  the  light  of  day. 
Or  mingled  my  own  with  another's  tear : 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men — 
Woe  to  them  all,  when  I  roam  again ! 

Here  have  I  watched  in  this  dungeon  cell. 

Longer  than  Memory's  tongue  can  tell : 

Here  have  I  shrieked  in  my  wild  despair. 

When  the  damned  fiends  from  their  prison  came. 

Sported  and  gambolled,  and  mocked  me  here, 

With  their  eyes  of  fire,  and  their  tongues  of  flame ; 
Shouting  forever  and  aye  my  name  ! 
And  I  strove  in  vain  to  burst  my  chain, 
And  longed  to  be  free  as  the  winds  again. 
That  I  might  spring  in  the  wizard  ring, 
And  scatter  them  back  to  their  hellish  den  ! 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men — 
Woe  to  them  all,  when  I  roam  again ! 

How  long  I  have  been  in  this  dungeon  here. 
Little  I  know,  and  nothing  I  care : 

What  to  me  is  the  day  or  night. 
Summer's  heat  or  autumn  sere, 

Spring-tide  flowers  or  winter's  blight. 
Pleasure's  smile  or  sorrow's  tear  ? 

Time  !  what  care  I  for  thy  flight  ? 
Joy  !  I  spurn  thee  with  disdain : 
Nothing  love  I  but  this  clanking  chain. 
Once  I  broke  from  its  iron  hold : 
Nothing  I  said,  but  silent  and  bold. 
Like  the  shepherd  that  watches  his  gentle  fold, 
Like  the  tiger  that  crouches  in  mountain  lair, 


332  SELEcnoNS  in  poetry. 

Hours  upon  hours,  so  watched  I  here ; 

Till  one  of  the  fiends  that  had  come  to  bring 

Herbs  from  the  valley,  and  drink  from  the  spring. 

Stalked  through  my  dungeon  entrance  in ! 

Ha !  how  he  shrieked  to  see  me  free  ! 

Ho !  how  he  trembled  and  knelt  to  me, 

He  who  had  mocked  me  many  a  day, 

And  barred  me  out  from  its  cheerful  ray ! 

Gods !  how  I  shouted  to  see  him  pray ! 

I  wreathed  my  hand  in  the  demon's  hair. 

And  choked  his  breath  in  its  muttered  prayer, 

And  danced  I  then  in  wild  delight, 

To  see  the  trembling  wretch's  fright. 

Gods !  how  I  crushed  his  hated  bones 

'Gainst  the  jagged  wall,  and  the  dungeon-stones ; 

And  plunged  my  arm  adown  his  throat, 

And  dragged  to  life  his  beating  heart, 
And  held  it  up,  that  I  might  gloat 

To  see  its  quivering  fibres  start ! 
Ho !  how  I  drank  of  the  purple  flood, 
Quafl:ed  and  quaffed  again  of  blood. 
Till  my  brain  grew  dark,  and  I  knew  no  more. 
Till  I  found  myself  on  this  dungeon  floor. 
Fettered  and  held  by  this  iron  chain ! 

Ho !  when  I  break  its  links  again, 

Ha !  when  I  break  its  links  again. 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men ! 

My  frame  is  shrunk,  and  my  soul  is  sad, 

And  devils  mock  and  call  me  mad. 

Many  a  dark  and  fearful  sight 

Haunts  me  here  in  the  gloom  of  night : 

Mortal  smile  or  human  tear 

Never  cheers  or  soothes  me  here  : 

The  spider  shrinks  from  my  grasp  away, 

Though  he's  known  my  form  for  many  a  day ; 

The  slimy  toad,  with  his  diamond  eye. 

Watches  afar,  but  comes  not  nigh  : 

The  craven  rat  with  her  filthy  brood. 

Pilfers  and  gnaws  my  scanty  food ; 

But  when  I  strive  to  make  her  play. 

Snaps  at  my  hands,  and  flees  away : 
Light  of  day  or  ray  of  sun, 
Friend  or  hope,  I've  none — I've  none  ! 


K.  M.  C. — JOnN  M.  HAKNEY.  333 

They  called  me  mad :  they  left  me  here, 

To  my  burning  thoughts,  and  the  fiend's  despair, 

Never,  ah !  never  to  see  again 

Earth,  or  sky,  or  sea,  or  plain ; 

Never  to  hear  soft  Pity's  sigh — 

Never  to  gaze  on  mortal  eye ; 

Doomed  through  hfe,  if  life  it  be, 

To  helpless,  hopeless  misery. 

Oh,  if  a  single  ray  of  light 

Had  pierced  the  gloom  of  this  endless  night ; 

If  the  cheerful  tones  of  a  single  voice 

Had  made  the  depths  of  my  heart  rejoice ; 

If  a  single  thing  had  loved  me  here, 

I  ne'er  had  crouched  to  these  fiends'  despair ! 

They  come  again  !     They  tear  my  brain ! 
They  tumble  and  dart  through  my  every  vein ! 
Ho !  could  I  burst  this  clanking  chain. 
Then  might  I  spring  in  the  hellish  ring, 
And  scatter  them  back  to  their  den  again ! 

Ho  !  when  I  break  its  links  again. 

Ha  !  when  I  break  its  links  again. 
Woe  to  the  daughters  and  sons  of  men !  r  m  CT 


71.     A  FEVER  DREAM. 

A  FEVER  scorched  my  body,  fired  my  brain  ! 

Like  lava,  in  Vesuvius,  boiled  my  blood 

Within  the  glowing  caverns  of  my  heart. 

I  raged  with  thirst,  and  begged  a  cold  clear  draught 

Of  fountain  water.     'Twas  with  tears  denied. 

I  drank  a  nauseous  febrifuge,  and  slept ; 

But  rested  not — harassed  with  horrid  dreams 

Of  burning  deserts,  and  of  dusty  plains — 

Mountains  disgorging  flames — forests  on  fire. 

Steam,  sunshine,  smoke,  and  boiling  lakes — 

Hills  of  hot  sand,  and  glowing  stones  that  seemed 

Embers  and  ashes  of  a  burnt  up  world  ! 

Thirst  raged  within  me.     I  sought  the  deepest  vale, 
And  called  on  all  the  rocks  and  caves  for  water ; — 
I  climbed  a  mountain,  and  from  cliff  to  cliff 


334  SELECTIONS  IN  BOETRY. 

Pursued  a  flying  cloud,  howling  for  water  : — 
I  crushed  the  withered  herbs,  and  gnawed  dry  roots, 
Still  crying,  Water !  water ! — while  the  cliffs  and  caves, 
Tn  horrid  mockery,  re-echoed  "  Water  1" 

The  baked  plain  gaped  for  moisture, 
And  from  its  arid  breast  heaved  smoke,  that  se«med 
The  breath  of  furnace — fierce,  volcanic  fire, 
Or  hot  monsoon,  that  raises  Syrian  sands 
To  clouds.     Amid  the  forests  we  espied 
A  faint  and  bleating  herd.     Sudden,  a  shrill 
And  horrid  shout  arose  of — "  Blood  !  blood  !  blood  1" 
We  fell  upon  them  with  the  tiger's  thirst. 
And  drank  up  all  the  blood  that  was  not  human  ! 
We  were  dyed  in  blood  !     Despair  returned  ; 
The  cry  of  blood  was  hushed,  and  dumb  confusion  reigned, 
Even  then,  when  hope  was  dead ! — past  hope — 
I  heard  a  laugh  !  and  saw  a  wretched  man 
Rip  his  own  veins,  and  bleeding,  drink 
With  eager  joy.     Tlie  example  seized  on  all : — 
Each  fell  upon  himself,  tearing  his  veins. 
Fiercely  in  search  of  blood !     And  some  there  were, 
Who,  having  emptied  their  own  veins,  did  seize 
Upon  their  neighbors*  arms,  and  slew  them  for  their  blood !  - 

"  Rend,  O  ye  lightnings !  the  sealed  firmament. 
And  flood  a  burning  world.     Rain  !  rain  !  pour  !  pour  ! 
Open  ye  windows  of  high  heaven  !  and  pour 
The  mighty  deluge.     Let  us  drown  and  drink 
Luxurious  death  I    Ye  earthquakes,  split  the  globe. 
The  solid  rock-ribbed  globe  ! — and  lay  all  bare 
Its  subterranean  rivers  and  fresh  seas !" 

Thus  raged  the  multitude.     And  many  fell 
In  fierce  convulsion  ; — many  slew  themselves. 
And  now,  I  saw  the  city  all  in  flames — 
The  forest  burning — and  the  very  earth  on  fire  ! 
I  saw  the  mountains  open  with  a  roar 
Loud  as  the  seven  apocalyptic  thunders, 
And  seas  of  lava  rolling  headlong  down, 
Through  crackling  forests  fierce,  and  hot  as  hell, 
Down  to  the  plain ; — I  turned  to  fly — and  waked  ! 

John  M.  HABNEr 


AIJNE  C.  LYNCH.  335 


12.     THOUGHTS  IN  A  LIBRARY. 

The  first  stanza,  -which  is  original,  is  prefixed  to  the  beautiful  ones  that 
follow,  as  their  meaning  is  not  at  the  outset  sufficiently  apparent,  without 
an  introduction,  for  oratorical  purposes. 

Oh  !  ye,  who  love  sweet  hours  of  thought, 

Here  seek  these  lofty  domes, 
Where  some  old  fond  librarian  guards, 

As  treasures,  ancient  tomes. 

Speak  low — tread  softly  through  these  halls  I 

Here  genius  lives  enshrined, 
Here  reign  in  silent  majesty 

The  monarchs  of  the  mind. 

A  mighty  spirit-host  they  come 

From  every  age  and  clime — 
Above  the  buried  wrecks  of  years 

They  breast  the  tide  of  time. 

And  in  their  presence-chamber  here. 

They  hold  their  regal  state. 
And  round  them  throng  a  noble'' train. 

The  gifted  and  the  great. 

Oh  !  child  of  toil !  when  round  thy  path 

The  storms  of  life  arise ; 
And  when  thy  brothers  pass  thee  by 

"With  stern,  unloving  eyes  ; 

Here  shall  the  Poets  chant  for  thee 

Their  sweetest,  loftiest  lays, 
And  Prophets  wait  to  guide  thy  steps 

In  wisdom's  pleasant  ways. 

Come,  with  these  God-anointed  kings, 

Be  thou  companion  here  ; 

And  in  the  mighty  realms  of  mind 

Thou  shalt  o;o  forth  a  Peer.  .        ^  t 

^  Annk  C.  Ltsco. 


m- 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


*I3.     THE  OLD  MAN  IN  DECEMBER. 


They  call  me  old  :  they  do  not  know 

The  thrill  my  heart  receives, 
When  I  hear  the  children's  bounding  feet 

Go  through  the  rustling  leaves. 

The  sounds  of  happy  laughter  fall 

In  music  on  my  ear ; 
And  my  spirit  keeps  the  cadence  while 

The  gray  head  turns  to  hear. 

They  mark,  at  times,  a  trembling  tear, 

And  say  I'm  worn  and  old  : 
They  do  not  know  the  healthful  cheer 

That  keeps  me  blithe  and  bold. 

These  tottering  limbs  may  faint  and  fail^ 

These  scattering  hairs  be  gray ; 
But  I  feel  my  mother's  parting  kiss 

On  my  lips  grow  warm  to-day  ! 

I  hear  her  breathe  a  burning  prayer 

For  the  boy  that  climbs  her  knee  ; 
While  the  almond  spreads  its  snowy  star 

O'er  the  halls  of  memory. 

'Tis  a  star  of  hope ! — it  leads  me  on, 

And  Faith  her  radiance  gives. 
To  light  me  through  the  narrow  way 

To  where  my  mother  lives. 

What  though  her  grave  be  wide  and  deep. 

O'er  lands  and  seas  away  ; 
I  know  she's  bending  down  from  heaven 

To  cheer  ray  heart  to-day. 

Oh  !  I'm  not  sad,  though  old  and  gray. 

And  worn  with  many  a  care  : 
My  soul  is  warm  in  Christian  love, 

And  strong  in  answered  prayer. 

In  every  bright  and  glorious  thing 

That  God  has  made,  I  joy  ; 
I  love  the  earth  and  heaven  above, 

As  I  did  when  a  little  boy.  Eahlt  Heekmanit. 


ANONYMOUS.  337 


74.      ROME. 


Rome  !  oh,  Rome,  eternal  city ! 
Who  can  gaze  unmoved  on  thee  ? 

Even  Nature  looks  in  pity- 
On  thy  fallen  majesty. 

Yet,  not  faithless  to  her  duty, 
Shedding  o'er  thee  purple  light. 

Still  she  grants  a  dower  of  beauty 
To  thy  ruins,  day  and  night. 

Still  thy  day  is  fair — but  fairer, 
Fairer  far  thy  evening  hour. 

When  the  moon,  night's  queenly  bearer. 
Floats  above  yon  mold'ring  tower. 

Is  not  this  the  hour  to  ponder  ? 

Those  dim  vistas  that  we  see, 
Do  they  not  wake  thoughts  that  wander 

On  throughout  eternity  ? 

Pace  the  stern  old  Coliseum, 

Slumbering  'neath  that  peaceful  ray ; 
Listen  to  the  far  "  Te  Deum," 

Issumg  from  those  cloisters  gray  ; 

Gaze  upon  yon  lonely  column. 

Rising,  spirit-like,  on  high, 
Keeping  there  its  vigil  solemn. 

By  thy  grave,  past  Italy  ! 

Temple,  shrine,  and  queenly  bower. 
Mantling  ivy  shrouds  in  gloom ; 

Wrapping,  pall-like,  haughty  tower. 
Regal  pile,  and  sullen  tomb. 

More  to  tell  were  vain — were  needless : 
Who  can  choose  but  love  this  land  ? 

Who  can,  of  its  beauties  heedless. 
Seek  uijmoved  another  strand  ? 

There  men  dream  of  fallen  splendor. 
Ruins  old  and  cloudless  skies  : 

Fancy  there  her  dreams  may  tender — 
Here  we  have  realities  ! 
15 


S38  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

Oh  !  what  noble  feats  of  glory, 
World-subduer,  thou  hast  seen  ! 

Gaze  upon  these  ruins  hoary — 

Gaze,  and  think  what  Rome  has  been ! 

ANONTMOUat 


15.      THE  POOR-HOUSE. 

There  is  yon  house  that  holds  the  parish  poor,  » 

Whose  walls  of  mud  scarce  bear  the  broken  door : 

There,  where  the  putrid  vapors  flagging  play. 

And  the  dull  wheel  hums  doleful  through  the  day, — 

There  children  dwell,  who  know  no  parents*  care-^ 

Parents,  who  know  no  children's  love,  dwell  there ; 

Heart-broken  matrons,  on  their  joyless  bed  ; 

Forsaken  wives — and  mothers  never  wed ; 

Dejected  widows,  with  unheeded  tears. 

And  crippled  age,  with  more  than  childhood's  fears  : 

The  lame,  the  blind,  and,  far  the  happiest,  they. 

The  moping  idiot  and  the  madman  gay. 

Here,  too,  the  sick  their  final  doom  receive — 
Here  brought  amid  the  scenes  of  grief  to  grieve ; 
Where  the  loud  groans  from  some  sad  chamber  flow, 
Mixed  with  the  clamor  of  the  crowd  below  : 
Here  sorrowing,  they  each  kindred  sorrow  scan, 
And  the  cold  charities  of  man  to  man ; 
Whose  laws,  indeed,  for  ruined  age  provide. 
And  strong  compulsion  plucks  the  scrap  from  pride  ; 
But  still  that  scrap  is  bought  with  many  a  sigh. 
And  pride  embitters  what  it  can't  deny  ! 

Say,  ye, — oppressed  by  some  fantastic  woes. 
Some  jarring  nerve  that  baffles  your  repose. 
Who  press  the  downy  couch,  while  slaves  advance. 
With  timid  eye,  to  read  the  distant  glance ; 
Who,  with  sad  prayers,  the  weary  doctor  tease. 
To  name  the  nameless,  ever  new  disease  ; 
Who,  with  mock  patience,  dire  complaint  endure. 
Which  real  pain,  and  that  alone,  can  cure, — 
How  would  ye  bear,  in  real  pain  to  lie. 
Despised,  neglected,  left  alone  to  die  ? 
How  would  ye  bear  to  draw  your  latest  breath 
Where  all  that's  wretched  paves  the  way  for  death  ? 

CuABBa 


HOME.  339 


76.      THE  HERMIT. 


Beneath  a  mountain's  brow,  the  most  remote 

And  inaccessible  by  shepherds  trod. 

In  a  deep  cave,  dug  by  no  mortal  hand, 

A  hermit  lived  ;  a  melancholy  man. 

Who  was  the  wonder  of  our  wandering  swains. 

Austere  and  lonely,  cruel  to  himself. 

Did  they  report  him ;  the  cold  earth  his  bed. 

Water  his  drink,  his  ifood  the  shepherd's  alms. 

I  went  to  see  him,  and  my  heart  was  touched 

With  reverence  and  with  pity.     Mild  he  spake  , 

And,  entering  on  discourse,  such  stories  told. 

As  made  me  oft  revisit  hie  sad  cell ; 

For  he  had  been  a  soldier  in  his  youth. 

And  fought  in  famous  battles,  when  the  peers 

Of  Europe,  by  the  old  Godfredo  led 

Against  the  usurping  infidel,  displayed 

The  blessed  cross,  and  won  the  Holy  Land. 

Pleased  with  my  admiration  and  the  fire 

His  speech  struck  from  me,  the  old  man  would  shake 

His  years  away,  and  act  his  young  encounters. 

Then,  having  showed  his  wounds,  he'd  sit  him  down. 

And  all  the  live-long  day  discourse  of  war. 

To  help  my  fancy,  in  the  smooth  green  turf 

He  cut  the  figures  of  the  marshalled  hosts ; 

Described  the  motions  and  explained  the  use 

Of  the  deep  column  and  the  lengthened  line. 

The  square,  the  crescent,  and  the  phalanx  firm  ; 

For  all  that  Saracen  or  Christian  knew 

Of  war's  vast  art,  was  to  this  hermit  known. 

Wliy  this  brave  soldier  in  a  desert  hid 
Those  qualities  that  should  have  graced  a  camp. 
At  last  I  also  learned.     Unhappy  man ! 
Returning  homewards  by  Messina's  port. 
Loaded  with  wealth  and  honors,  bravely  won, 
A  rude  and  boisterous  captain  of  the  sea 
Fastened  a  quarrel  on  him.    Fierce  they  fought : 
The  stranger  fell ;  and,  with  his  dying  breath. 
Declared  his  name  and  lineage.  •  "  Mighty  heaven  !" 
The  soldier  cried — "  My  brother  !  oh,  my  brother  !" 
They  exchanged  forgiveness. 


840  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

And  happy,  in  my  mind,  was  he  that  died ; 
For  many  deaths  has  the  sumvor  suffered. 
In  the  wild  desert,  on  a  rock,  he  sits, 
Or  on  some  nameless  stream's  untrodden  banks, 
And  ruminates  all  day  his  dreadful  fate  : 
At  times,  alas  !  not  in  his  perfect  mind, 
Holds  dialogues  with  his  loved  brother's  ghost ; 
And  oft,  each  night,  forsakes  his  sullen  couch. 
To  make  sad  orisons  for  him  he  slew. 


HOMK 


V7.       SPEECH  OF  CAIUS    GRACCHUS. 

0  Rome,  my  country !  0  my  mother  Rome  ! 

Is  it  to  shed  thy  blood  I  draw  my  sword  ? 

To  fill  thy  matrons'  and  thy  daughters'  eyes 

With  tears,  and  drain  the  spirits  of  thy  sons  ? 

Should  I  not  rather  turn  it  'gainst  myself. 

And  by  the  timely  sacrifice  of  one. 

Preserve  the  many  ?     They  will  not  let  me  do  it ; 

They  take  from  me  the  rule  of  mine  own  acts. 

And  make  me  freedom's  slave  !     What !     Is  it  so  ? 

Come,  then,  the  only  virtue  that  is  left  me, — 

The  fatal  virtue  of  necessity. 

Upon  them ! — 

Give  them  stout  hearts,  ye  gods  !  to  enable  them 

To  stand  the  flashing  of  their  tyrants'  swords  ; 

Deaf  to  the  din  of  battle  let  them  be ; 

Senseless  to  wounds,  and  without  eyes  for  blood ; — 

That  for  this  once  they  may  belie  themselves, — 

Make  tyranny  to  cower,  and  from  her  yoke 

Lift  prostrate  Hberty,  to  fall  no  more  1 

J.  Sheridan  KNOWLsa 


18.    belshazzar's  warning. 

Hour  of  an  empire's  overthrow  ! 

The  princes  from  the  feast  were  gone ; 
The  idol  flame  was  burning  low ; 

'Twas  midnight  upon  Babylon. 

That  night  the  feast  was  wild  and  liigh ; 
That  night  was  Sion's  gold  profaned; 


CKOLY.  34:1 

The  seal  was  set  to  blasphemy  ; 

The  last  deep  cup  of  wrath  was  drained. 

Mid  jewelled  roof  and  silken  pall, 

Belshazzar  on  his  couch  was  flung  ; 
A  burst  of  thunder  filled  the  hall ;  ^ 

He  heard — but  'twas  no  mortal  tongue  : 

"  King  of  the  East !  the  trumpet  calls. 

That  calls  thee  to  a  tyrant's  grave : 
A  curse  is  on  thy  palace  walls — 

A  curse  is  on  thy  guardian  wave  : 

"  A  surge  is  in  Euphrates'  bed, 

That  never  filled  its  bed  before ; 
A  surge  that,  ere  the  morn  be  red. 

Shall  load  with  death  its  haughty  shore. 

**  Behold  a  tide  of  Persian  steel ! 

A  torrent  of  the  Median  c^ ; 
Like  flame  their  gory  banners  wheel : 

Rise,  king,  and  arm  thee  for  the  war !" 

Belshazzar  gazed :  the  voice  was  pnsc — 

The  lofty  chamber  filled  with  gloom  ; 
But  echoed  on  the  sudden  blast 

The  rushing  of  a  mighty  plume. 

He  listened  :  all  again  was  still ; 

He  heard  no  chariot's  iron  clang ; 
He  heard  the  fountain's  gushing  rill. 

The  breeze  that  through  the  roses  sang. 

He  slept :  in  sleep  wild  murmurs  came  ; 

A  visoned  splendor  fired  the  sky  ; 
He  heard  Belshazzar's  taunted  name  ; 

He  heard  again  the  Prophet  cry  : 

"  Sleep,  Sultan  !  'tis  thy  final  sleep  ; 

Or,  wake  or  sleep,  the  guilty  dies. 
The  wrongs  of  those  who  watch  and  Aveep, 

Around  thee  and  thy  nation  rise." 

He  started  :  mid  the  battle's  yell. 

He  saw  the  Persian  rushing  on  ; 
He  saw  the  flames  around  him  swell  :. 

Thou'rt  ashes,  King  of  Babylon  !  « 


9 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


79.  THE  DEATH  OF  NAPOLEON. 

Wild  was  the  night ;  yet  a  wilder  night 
Hung  round  the  soldier's  pillow ; 
In  his  bosom  there  waged  a  fiercer  fight 
Than  the  fight  on  the  watchful  billow. 

A  few  fond  mourners  were  kneeling  by, 
The  few  that  his  stem  heart  cherished ; 
They  knew  by  his  glazed  and  unearthly  eye, 
That  life  had  nearly  perished. 

They  knew  by  his  awful  and  kingly  look. 

By  the  order  hastily  spoken. 

That  he  dreamed  of  days  when  the  nations  shook. 

And  the  nations'  hosts  were  broken. 

He  dreamed  that  the  Frenchman's  sword  still  slew. 
And  triumphed  the  Frenchman's  *  eagle' ; 
And  the  strugghng  Austrian  still  fled  anew, 
Like  the  hare  before  the  beagle. 

The  bearded  Russian  he  scourged  again. 
The  Prussian's  camp  was  routed. 
And  again,  on  the  hills  of  haughty  Spain, 
His  mighty  armies  shouted. 

Over  Egypt's  sands,  over  Alpine  snows, 
At  the  pyramids,  at  the  mountain. 
Where  the  wave  of  the  lordly  Danube  flows. 
And  by  the  Italian  fountain. 

On  the  snowy  clifi*s,  where  mountain  streams 
Dash  by  the  Switzer's  dweUing, 
He  led  again,  in  his  dying  dreams. 
His  hosts,  the  broad  earth  quelling. 

Again  Marengo's  field  was  won. 
And  Jena's  bloody  battle ; 
Again  the  world  was  overrun. 
Made  pale  at  the  cannon's  rattle. 

He  died  at  the  close  of  that  darksome  day, 

A  day  that  shall  live  in  story  ; 

In  the  rocky  land  they  placed  his  clay, 

"  And  left  him  alone  with  his  glory."     j  MoLkllan.  Jk. 


ATHEESTONE.  "  34:3 


80.     THE  ROMAN  SOLDIER. 


The  Last  Days  of  Herculaneum. 

There  was  a  man, 
A  Roman  soldier,  for  some  daring  deed 
That  trespassed  on  the  laws,  in  dungeon  low 
Chained  down.     His  was  a  noble  spirit,  rough, 
But  generous,  and  brave,  and  kind. 
He  had  a  son :  it  was  a  rosy  boy, 
A  little  faithful  copy  of  his  sire 
In  face  and  gesture.     From  infancy  the  child 
Had  been  his  father's  solace  and  his  care. 

With  earliest  morn. 
Of  that  first  day  of  darkness  and  amaze. 
He  came.     The  iron  door  was  closed, — for  them 
Never  to  open  more  !     The  day,  the  night. 
Dragged  slowly  b}'- ;  nor  did  they  know  the  fate 
Impending  o'er  the  city.     Well  they  heard 
The  pent-up  thunders  in  the  earth  beneath. 
And  felt  its  giddy  rocking ;  and  the  air 
Grew  hot  at  length,  and  thick ;  but  in  his  straw 
The  boy  was  sleeping  :  and  the  father  hoped 
The  earthquake  might  pass  by ;  nor  would  he  wake 
From  his  sound  rest  the  unfearing  child,  nor  tell 
The  dangers  of  theii*  state.     On  his  low  couch 
The  fettered  soldier  sunk,  and  with  deep  awe 
Listened  the  fearful  sounds : — with  upturned  eye 
To  the  great  gods  he  breathed  a  prayer ; — then  strove 
To  calm  himself,  and  lose  in  sleep  awhile 
His  useless  terrors.     But  he  could  not  sleep  : — 
His  body  burned  with  feverish  heat ; — ^his  chains 
Clanked  loud,  although  he  moved  not :  deep  in  earth 
Groaned  unimaginable  thunders  : — sounds. 
Fearful  and  ominous,  arose  and  died. 
Like  the  sad  meanings  of  November's  wind. 
In  the  blank  midnight.     Deepest  horror  chilled 
His  blood  that  burned  before ;  cold  clammy  sweats 
Came  o'er  him : — then  anon  a  fiery  thrill 
Shot  through  his  veins.     Now  on  his  couch  he  shrunk, 
And  shivered  as  in  fear :— now  upright  leaped, 
As  though  he  iK^ari  the  battle  trumpet  sound. 
And  longed  to  cope  with  death. 


344:  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

He  slept  at  last, 
A  troubled,  dreamy  sleep.     Well, — had  he  slept 
Never  to  waken  more !     His  hours  are  few 
But  terrible  his  aprony.  . 


81.      THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

Loudly  the  father  called  upon  his  child : — 
No  voice  rephed.     Trembling  and  anxiously 
He  searched  their  couch  of  straw : — with  headlong  haste 
Trod  round  his  stinted  limits,  and,  low  bent. 
Groped  darkling  on  the  earth : — ^no  child  was  there. 
Again  he  called : — again,  at  farthest  stretch 
Of  his  accursed  fetters,  till  the  blood 
Seemed  bursting  from  his  ears,  and  from  his  eyes 
Fire  flashed :  ue  strained  with  arm  extended  far. 
And  fingers  widely  spread,  greedy  to  touch 
Though  but  his  idol's  garment.     Useless  toil ! 
Yet  still  renewed  : — still  round  and  round  he  goes. 
And  strams,  and  snatches, — and  with  dreadful  cries 
Calls  on  his  boy.     Mad  phrensy  fires  him  now  : 
He  plants  against  the  Wall  his  feet ; — his  chain 
Grasps  ; — tugs  with  giant  strength  to  force  away 
The  deep-driven  staple  : — yells  and  shrieks  with  rage. 
And,  like  a  desert  lion  in  the  snare 
Raging  to  break  his  toils,  to  and  fro  bounds. 
But  see !  the  ground  is  opening  : — a  blue  light 
Mounts,  gently  waving, — noiseless : — thin  and  cold  • 
It  seems,  and  like  a  rainbow  tint,  not  flame ; 
But  by  its  lustre,  on  the  earth  outstretched. 
Behold  the  lifeless  child  ! — ^his  dress  is  singed. 
And  o'er  his  face  serene  a  darkened  line 
Points  out  the  lightning's  track. 

Silent  and  pale 
The  father  stands  : — no  tear  is  in  his  eye  : — 
The  thunders  bellow,  but  he  hears  them  not : — 
The  ground  lifts  like  a  sea, — he  knows  it  not : — 
The  strong  walls  grind  and  gape : — the  vaulted  roof 
Takes  shapes  like  bubble  tossing  in  the  wind : — 
See  !  he  looks  up  and  smiles ; — for  death  to  him 


,  ATHEESTONE.  345 

Is  happiness.     Yet  could  one  last  embrace 
Be  given,  'twere  still  a  sweeter  thing  to  die. 

It  will  be  given.     Look !  how  the  rolhng  ground, 
At  every  swell,  nearer  and  still  more  near 
Moves  towards  the  father's  outstretched  arm  his  boy : — 
Once  he  has  touched  his  garment ; — ^how  his  eye 
Lightens  with  love,  and  hope,  and  anxious  fears ! 
Ha !  see !  he  has  him  now  ! — he  clasps  him  round, 
Kisses  his  face  ; — puts  back  the  curhng  locks. 
That  shaded  his  fine  brow : — ^looks  in  his  eyes, 
Grasps  in  his  own  those  little  dimpled  hands. 
Then  folds  him  to  his  breast,  as  he  was  wont 
To  lie  when  sleeping,  and  resigned  awaits 
Undreaded  death. 

And  dexith  came  soon,  and  swift, 
And  pangless. 

The  huge  pile  sunk  down  at  once 
Into  the  opening  earth.  Walls,  arches,  roof. 
And  deep  foundation-stones,  all  mingling  fell ! 

Atheestone. 


82.     THOUGHT  WITHOUT  UTTERANCE. 

Come,  I  will  show  thee  an  affliction,  unnumbered  among  this 
world's  sorrows. 

Yet  real  and  wearisome  and  constant,  fembittering  the  cup  of  life. 

There  be,  who  can  think  within  themselves,  and  the  fire  burneth 
at  their  heart. 

And  eloquence  waiteth  at  their  lips,'  yet  they  speak  not  with 
their  tongue ; 

There  be,  whom  zeal  quickeneth,  or  slander  stirreth  to  reply. 

Or  need  constraineth  to  ask,  or  pity  sendeth  as  her  messengers. 

But  nervous  dread  and  sensitive   shame  freeze  the  current  of 
their  speech ; 

The  mouth  is  sealed  as  with  lead,  a  cold  weight  presseth  on  the 
heart. 

The  mocking  promise  of   power  is  once  more  broken  in  per- 
formance. 

And   they  stand   impotent  of   words,    travailing  with   unborn 
thoughts ; 

Courage  is  cowed  at  the  portal :  wisdom  is  widowed  of  utter- 
ance ; 

15* 


34:6  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

He  that  went  to  comfort  is  pitied  ;  he  that  should  rebuke,  is 

silent. 
And  fools  who  might  listen  and  learn,  stand  by  to  look  and  laugh ; 
While  friends,  with  kinder  eyes,  wound  deeper  by  compassion, 
And  thought,  finding  not  a  vent,  smouldereth,  gnawing  at  the 

heart. 
And  the  man  sinketh  in  his  sphere,  for  lack  of  empty  sounds. 
There  be  many  cares  and  sorrows  thou  hast  not  yet  considered. 
And  well  may  thy  soul  rejoice  in  the  fair  privilege  of  speech ; 
For  at  every  turn  to  want  a  word, — thou  canst  not  guess  that 

want; 
It  is  as  lack  of  breath  or  bread :  hfe  hath  no  grief  more  galling. 

M.  F.  TurPER. 


83*     THE  POWER  OF  ELOQUENCE, 

Come,  I  will  tell  thee  of  a  joy,  which  the  parasites  of  pleasure 
have  not  known. 

Though  earth  and  air  and  sea  have  gorged  all  the  appetites  of 
sense. 

Behold,  what  fire  is  in  his  eye,  what  fervor  on  his  cheek  ! 

That  glorious  burst  of  winged  words ! — ^how  bound  they  from 
his  tongue ! 

The  full  expression  of  the  mighty  thought,  the  strong  trium- 
phant argument. 

The  rush  of  native  eloquence,  resistless  as  Niagara, 

The  keen  demand,  the  clear  reply,  the  fine  poetic  image. 

The  iJice  analogy,  the  clenching  fact,  the  metaphor  bold  and  free. 

The  grasp  of  concentrated  Intellect  wielding  the  omnipotence  of 
truth. 

The  grandeur  of  his  speech,  in  his  majesty  of  mind ! 

Champion  of  the  right, — patriot,  or  priest,  or  pleader  of  the 
innocent  cause. 

Upon  whose  lips  the  mystic  bee  hath  dropped  the  honey  of  per- 
suasion. 

Whose  heart  and  tongue  have  been  touched,  as  of  old,  by  the 
live  coal  from  the  altar. 

How  wide  the  spreading  of  thy  peace,  how  deep  the  draught 
of  thy  pleasures  ! 

To  hold  the  multitude  as  one,  breathing  in  measured  cadence, 

A  thousand  men  with  flashing  eyes,  waiting  upon  thy  will : 

A  thousand  hearts  kindled  by  thee  with  consecrated  fire. 


M.  F  TUPPEK.  34:7 

Ten  flaming  spiritual  hecatombs  ofiered  on  the  mount  of  God: 

And  how  a  pause>  a  thrilling  pause, — they  live  but  in  thy 
words, — 

Thou  hast  broken  the  bounds  of  self,  as  the  Nile  at  its  rising. 

Thou  art  expanded  into  them,  one  faith,  one  hope,  one  spurit. 

They  breathe  but  in  thy  breath,  their  minds  are  passive  unto 
thine. 

Thou  turnest  the  key  of  their  love,  bending  their  affections  to 
thy  purpose. 

And  all,  in  sympathy  with  thee,  tremble  with  tumultuous  emo- 
tions. 

Verily,  0  man,  with  truth  for  thy  theme,  eloquence  shall  throne 
thee  with  archangels.  ^^  p^  Tuppee. 


84.     TRIFLES. 


Yet  once  more,  saith  the  fool,  yet  once,  and  is  it  not  a  little  one  ? 
Spare  me  this   folly  yet   an  hour,  for  what  is  one  among  so 

many  ? 
And  >e  blindeth  his  conscience  with   Hes,  and   stupifieth   his 

heart  with  doubts ; — 
Whom  shall  I  harm  in  this  matter  ?  and  a  little  ill  breedeth  much 

good; 
My  thoughts,  are  they  not  mine  own  ?  and  they  leave  no  mark 

behind  them  ; 
And  if  God  so  pardoneth  crime,  how  should  these  petty  sins 

affect  him  ? — 
So  he  transgresseth  yet  again,  and  falleth  by  little  and  little. 
Till  the  ground  crumble   beneath  him,  and  he  sinketh  in  the 

gulf  despairing. 
For  there  is  nothing  in  the  earth  so  small  that  it  may  not  pro- 
duce great  things. 
And  no  swerving  from  a  right  line,  that  may  not  lead  eternally 

astray. 
A  landmark  tree  was  once  a  seed  ;  and  the  dust  in  the  balance 

maketli  a  difference ; 
And  the  cairn  is  heaped  high  by  each  one  flinging  a  pebble ; 
The  dangerous  bar  in  the  harbor's  mouth  is  only  grains  of  sand  ; 
And  the  shoal  that  hath  wrecked  a  navy  is  the  work  of  a  colony 

of  worms : 
Yea,  and  a  despicable  gnat  may  madden  the  mighty  elephant ; 


34:8  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

And  the  living  rock  is  worn  by  the  diligent  flow  of  the  brook. 
Little  art  thou,  0  man,  and  in  trifles  thou  contendest  with  thine 

equals. 
For  atoms  must  crowd  upon  atoms,  ere  crime  groweth  to  be  a 

giant. 
What,  is  thy  servant  a  dog  ? — not  yet  wilt  thou  grasp  the  dagger, 
Not  yet  wilt  thou  laugh  with  the  scoffers,  not  yet  betray  the 

innocent ; 
But  if  thou  nourish  in  thy  heart  the  reveries  of  injury  or  passion 
And  travel  in  mental  heat  the  mazy  labyrinths  of  guilt, 
And  then  conceive  it  possible,  and  then  reflect  on  it  as  done, 
And  use,  by  little  and  little,  thyself  to  regard  thyself  a  villain. 
Not  long  will  crime  be  absent  from  the  voice  that  doth  invoke 

him  to  thy  heart. 
And  bitterly  wilt  thou  grieve,  that  the  buds  have  ripened  into 


85.     THE  GOOD  MAN. 

Angels  are  round  the  good  man,  to  catch  the  incense  of  his 

prayers. 
And  they  fly  to  minister  kindness  to  those  for  whom  he  pleadeth ; 
For  the  altar  of  his  heart  is  lighted,  and  bumeth  before  God 

continually. 
And  he  breatheth,  conscious  of  his  joy,  the  native  atmosphere 

of  heaven, 
Yea,  though  poor,  and  contemned,  and  ignorant  of  this  world's 

wisdom, 
111  can  his  fellows  spare  him  though  they  know  not  of  his  value. 
Thousands  bewail  a  hero,  and  a  nation  mourneth  for  its  king, 
But  the  whole  universe  lamenteth  the  loss  of  a  man  of  prayer. 
Verily,  were  it  not  for  One,  who  sitteth  on  his  rightful  throne. 
Crowned  with  a  rainbow  of   emerald,  the  green   memorial  of 

earth, — 
For  one,  a  meditating  man,  that  hath  clad  his  Godhead  with 

mortality. 
And  offereth  prayer  without  ceasing,  the  royal  priest  of  Nature, 
Matter  and  life  and  mind  had  sunk  into  dark  annihilation, 
And  the  lightning   frown  of   Justice  withered  the  world  into 

"°^^^"g-  M.RTCPPEH. 


M    F.  TUPPEK.  349 


86.     EQUALITY. 

Whence    cometli  the   doctrine,  that  all  should  be  equal  and 

free  ?— 
It  is  the  lie  that  crowded  hell,  wheii  Seraphs  flung  away  sub- 
jection. 
No  man  is  his  neighbor's  equal,  for  no  two  minds  are  similar. 
And  accidents,  alike  with  quahties,  have  every  shade  but  same- 
ness : 
The  hghtest  atom  of  difference  shall  destroy  the  nice  balance  of 

equality, 
And  all  things,  from  without  and  from  within,  make  one  man 

to  differ  from  another. 
We  are  equal  and  free !  was  the  watchword  that  spirited  the 

legions  of  Satan, 
We  are  equal  and  free  !  is  the  double  lie  that  entrappeth  to  him 

conscripts  from  earth : 
The  messengers  of  that  dark  despot  will  pander  to  thy  license 

and  thy  pride. 
And  draw  thee  from  the  crowd  where  thou  art  safe,  to  seize 

thee  in  the  solitary  desert. 
Woe  unto  him  whose   heart  the  syren   song  of  Liberty  hath 

charmed ; 
Woe  unto  him  whose   mind  is  bewitched  by  her  treacherous 

beauty ; 
In  mad  zeal  flingeth  he  away  the  fetters  of  duty  and  restraint. 
And  yieldeth  up  the  holocaust  of  self  to  that  fair  idol  of  the 

damned. 
No  man  hath  freedom  in  aught  save  in  that  from  which  the 

wicked  would  be  hindered. 
He  is  free  towards  God  and  good  ;  but  to  all  else  a  bondman. 

M,  F.  TuppEB. 


87.     BOOKS. 


O  BOOKS,  ye  monuments  of  mind,  concrete  wisdom  of  the  wisest ; 
Sweet  solaces  of  daily  life  ;  proofs  and  results  of  immortality ; 
Trees  yielding  all  fruits,  whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the 

nations  , 
Groves  of   knoAvledgc,  where  all  may  cat,  nor  fear  a  flaming 

sword  ; 


850  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

Gentle  comrades,  kind  advisers ;  friends,  comforts,  treasures : 
Helps,  governments,  diversities  of  tongues ;  who  can  weigh  youi 

worth  ?— 
To  walk  no  longer  with  the  just ;  to  be  driven  from  the  porch 

of  science ; 
To  bid  a  long  adieu  to  those  intimate  ones,  poets,  philosophers, 

and  teachers ; 
To  see  no  record  of  the  sympathies  which  bind  thee  in  com- 
munion with  the  good ; 
To  be  thrust  from  the  feet  of  Him,  who  spake  as  never  man 

spake ; 
To  have  no  avenue  to  heaven  but  the  dim  aisle  of  superstition ; 
To  live  as  an  Esquimaux,  in  lethargy ;  to  die  as  the  Mohawk, 

in  ignorance : 
Oh,  what  were  life,  but  a  blank  ?  what  were  death  but  a  terror  ? 
What  were  man,  but  a  burden  to  himself  ?  what  were  mind, 

but  misery  ? 
Yea,  let  another  Omar  burn  the  full  library  of  knowledge. 
And  the  broad  world  may  perish  in  the  flames,  offered  on  the 

ashes  of  its  wisdom  !  ,  ^  j,  totper. 


88.     BEAUTY. 


There  is  a  beauty  for  the  body;   the  superficial  polish  of  a 

statue, 
The    symmetry  of    form   and   feature,    delicately  carved   and 

painted. 
There  is  a  beauty  of  the  reason :    grandly  independent  of  ex- 
ternals. 
It  looketh  from  the  windows  of  the  house,  shining  in  the  man 

triumphant. 
I  have  seen  the  broad  blank  face  of  some  misshapen  dwarf 
Lit  on  a  sudden  as  with  glory — the  brilliant  light  of  mind : 
Who  then  imagined  him  deformed  ?     Intelligence  is  blazing  on 

his  forehead — 
There  is  empire  in  his  eye,  and  sweetness  on  his  lip,  and  his 

brown  cheek  glittercth  with  beauty. 
And  I  have  known   some   Nireus  of   the  camp   a  varnished 

paragon  of  chamberers — 
Fine,  elegant,  and    shapely,  molded   as   the    master-piece   of 

Phidias : 


M.  F.  TUPPEK.  351 

Such  an  one,  with  intellects  abased,  have  I  noted  crouching  to 

the  dwarf. 
Whilst  his  lovers  scorn  the  fool  whose  beauty  hath  departed ! 
And  there  is  a   beauty  for  the   spirit;    mind   in   its  perfect 

flowering, 
Fragrant,  expanded  into  soul,  full  of  love  and  blessed. 
Go  to  some  squalid  couch — some  famishing  deathbed  of  the 

poor: 
He  is  shninken,  cadaverous,  diseased  ; — there  is  here  no  beauty 

of  the  body. 
Never  hath  he  fed  on  knowledge,  nor  drank  at  the  streams  of 

science ; 
He  is  of   the    common    herd — illiterate.       There   is  here  no 

beauty  of  the  reason. 
But,  lo !  his  filming  eye  is  bright  with  love  from  heaven  ; 
In  every  look  it  beameth  praise,  as  worshipping  with  seraphs. 
What  honeycomb  is  hived  upon  his  lips,  eloquent  of  gratitude 

and  prayer ! 
What  triumph  shrined  serene  upon  that  clammy  brow ! 
What  glory  flickering  transparent  under  those  thin  cheeks ! 
Wlwit  beauty  in  his  face  !     Is  it  not  the  face  of  an  angel  ? 

M.  F.  Tdppee. 


89.       CRUELTY. 


Will  none  befriend  that  poor  dumb  brute- 
Will  no  man  rescue  him  ? 

With  weaker  effort,  gasping,  mute. 
He  strains  in  every  limb. 

Spare  him,  O  spare  !     He  feels — he  feels ! 

Big  tears  roll  from  his  eyes : 
Another  crushing  blow! — he  reels. 

Staggers,  and  falls,  and  dies. 

Poor  jaded  horse,  the  blood  runs  cold 

Thy  guiltless  wrongs  to  see ; 
To  heaven,  O  starved  one,  lame  and  old. 

Thy  dim  eye  pleads  for  thee  ! 

Thou  too,  Q  dog,  whose  faithful  zeal 

Fawns  on  some  ruffian  grim  ; 
He  stripes  thy  skin  with  many  a  weal— 

And  yet  thou  lovest  him ! 


352  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

Shame !  that  of  all  the  living  chain 

That  links  creation's  plan, 
There  is  but  one  delights  in  pain — 

The  savage  monarch,  man ! 

0  cruelty !  who  could  rehearse 

Thy  million  dismal  deeds ; 
Or  track  the  workings  of  the  curse 

By  which  all  nature  bleeds  ? 

Tlie  merciless  is  doubly  curst, 

As- mercy  is  "  twice  blest :" 
Vengeance,  though  slow,  shall  come, — but  first 

The  vengeance  of  the  breast. 

Why  add  another  woe  to  life  ? 
Man,  are  there  not  enough  ? 
Why  lay  thy  weapon  to  the  strife  ? 
.      ^        Why  make  the  road  more  rough  ?      -^  -p  rp^pj^^ 


90.     THE  CHAMOIS  HUNTER. 

Night  gloomed  apace,  and  dark  on  high 
The  thousand  banners  of  the  sky 

Their  awful  width  unfurled. 
Veiling  Mont  Blanc's  majestic  brow. 
That  seemed,  among  its  cloud- wrapt  snow, 

The  ghost  of  some  dead  world  ; 

When  Pierre  the  hunter  cheerly  went 
To  scale  the  Catton's  battlement 

Before  the  peep  of  day : 
He  took  his  rifle,  pole,  and  rope — 
His  heart  and  eyes  alight  with  hope. 

He  hasted  on  his  way. 

He  crossed  the  vale — he  hurried  on — 
He  forded  the  cold  Arveron — 

The  first  rough  terrace  gained  ; 
Threaded  the  fir  wood's  gloomy  belt. 
And  trod  the  snows  that  never  melt. 

And  to  the  summit  strained. 


M.  F.  TUPPEK. 

And  now  he  nears  tlie  chasmed  ice  ; 
He  stoops  to  leap,  and  in  a  trice, 

His  foot  hath  shpped ! — 0  heaven  ! 
He  hath  leapt  in,  and  down  he  falls 
Between  those  blue  tremendous  walls. 

Standing  asunder  riven ! 

But  quick  his  clutching  nervous  grasp 
Contrives  a  jutting  crag  to  clasp, 

And  thus  he  hangs  in  air ; — 
0  moment  of  exulting  bliss  ! 
Yet  hope  so  nearly  hopeless,  is 

Twin-brother  to  despair. 

He  looked  beneath, — a  horrible  doom ! 
Some  thousand  yards  of  deepening  gloom 

Where  he  must  drop  to  die  ! 
He  looked  above,  and  many  a  rood 
Upright  the  frozen  ramparts  stood. 

Around  a  speck  of  sky. 

Fifteen  long  dreadful  hours  he  hung. 
And  often  by  strong  breezes  swung. 

His  fainting  body  twists  ; 
Scarce  can  he  cling  one  moment  more — 
His  half-dead  hands  are  ice,  and  sore 

His  burning,  bursting  wrists. 

His  head  grows  dizzy — ^he  must  drop : 
He  half  resolves ; — but  stop,  0  stop  ! 

Hold  on  to  the  last  spasm ! 
Never  in  life  give  up  your  hope  : 
Behold  !  behold !  a  friendly  rope 

Is  dropping  down  the  chasm ! 

They  call  thee,  Pierre  !     See,  see  them  here  ; 
Thy  gathered  neighbors  far  and  near : 

Be  cool,  man — hold  on  fast ! 
And  so  from  out  that  terrible  place. 
With  death's  pale  paint  upon  his  face. 

They  drew  him  up  at  last. 

And  he  came  home  an  altered  man. 
For  many  harrowing  terrors  ran 

Through  his  poor  heart  that  day : 


35a 


S54:  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

He  thought  how  all  through  life,  though  young, 
Upon  a  thread,  a  hair,  he  hung. 
Over  a  gulf  midway : 

He  thought  what  fear  it  were  to  fall 
Into  the  pit  that  swallows  all, 

Unwinged  with  hope  and  love  : 
And  when  the  succor  came  at  last, 
Oh,  then  he  learnt  how  firm  and  fast 

Was  his  best  Friend  above. 


M.  r.  TuppKu. 


91.      DREAMS. 


A  DREAM — mysterious  word,  a  dream  ! 

What  joys  and  sorrows  are  enshrined 
In  those  still  hours  we  fondly  deem 

A  playtime  for  the  truant  mind  ! 

It  is  a  happy  thing  to  dream. 

When  rosy  thoughts  and  visions  bright 
Pour  on  the  soul  a  golden  stream 

Of  rich  luxurious  delight. 
» 
It  is  a  weary  thing  to  dream. 

When  from  the  hot  and  aching  brain. 
As  from  a  boiling  cauldron,  steam 

The  myriad  forms  in  fancy's  train. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  to  dream. 

When  shapes  grotesque  of  all  quaint  things. 
Like  laughing  water- witches,  seem 

To  sport  in  reason's  turbid  springs. 

It  is  a  glorious  thing  to  dream. 

When  full  of  wings  and  full  of  eyes, — 
Borne  on  the  whirlwind  or  sun-beam, — 

We  race  along  the  startled  skies. 

It  is  a  wondrous  thing  to  dream 
Of  tumbhng,  with  a  fearful  shock. 

From  some  tall  cliff  where  eagles  scream. 
To  light  upon  a  feather  rock. 


M.  F.  TIJPPEE. — ^W.  M.  PEAED.  355 

It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  dream 

Of  strangled  throats  and  heart-blood  spilt, 
And  ghosts  that  in  the  darkness  gleam. 

And  horrid  eyes  of  midnight  guilt. 

I  love  a  dream — I  dread  a  dream, 

Sometimes  all  bright  and  full  of  gladness, 

But  other  times  my  brain  will  teem 

With  sights  that  urge  the  mind  to  madness. 

M.  F.  TuppER 


-92.     ARMINIUS. 


Back,  back  ; — he  fears  not  foaming  flood 

Who  fears  not  steel-clad  line  : — 
No  warrior  thou  of  German  blood, 

No  brother  thou  of  mine. 
Go,  earn  Rome's  chain  to  load  thy  neck, 

Her  gems  to  deck  thy  hilt ; 
And  blazon  honor's  hapless  wreck 

With  all  the  gauds  of  guilt. 

But  wouldst  thou  have  me  share  the  prey  ? 

By  all  that  I  have  done. 
The  Varian  bones  that  day  by  day 

Lie  whitening  in  the  sun ; 
The  legion's  trampled  panoply, 

The  eagle's  shattered  wing, 
I  Avould  not  be  for  earth  or  sky 

So  scorned  and  mean  a  thing. 

Ho  !  call  me  here  the  wizard,  boy. 

Of  dark  and  subtle  skill, 
To  agonize,  but  not  destroy — 

To  torture,  not  to  kill. 
AVhen  SAVords  arc  out,  and  shriek  and  shout 

Leave  little  room  for  prayer. 
No  fetter  on  man's  arm  or  heart 

Hangs  half  so  heavy  there. 

I  curse  him  by  the  gifts  the  land 
Hath  won  from  him  and  Rome — 

The  riving  axe,  the  wasting  brand. 
Rent  forest,  blazing  home. 


B6S  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

I  curse  him  by  our  country's  gods. 

The  terrible,  the  dark — 
The  breakers  of  the  Roman  rods, 

The  smiters  of  the  bark. 

Oh,  misery  that  such  a  ban 

On  such  a  brow  should  be  ! 
Why  comes  he  not  in  battle's  van, 

His  country's  chief  to  be  ? 
To  stand  a  comrade  by  my  side. 

The  sharer  of  my  fame, 
And  worthy  of  a  brother's  pride. 

And  of  a  brother's  name  ? 

•  But  it  is  past ! — where  heroes  press 

And  cowards  bend  the  knee, 
Arminius  is  not  brotherless — 

His  brethren  are  the  free. 
They  come  around  : — one  hour,  and  lighi 

Will  fade  from  turf  and  tide  ; 
Then  onward — onward  to  the  fight. 

With  darkness  for  our  guide  ! 

To-night — to-night,  when  we  shall  meet 

In  combat  face  to  face. 
Then  only  would  Arminius  greet 

The  renegade's  embrace. 
The  canker  of  Rome's  guilt  shall  be 

Upon  his  dying  name  ; 
And  as  he  lived  in  slavery, 

Sd  shall  he  fall  in  shame. 


W.  ]^L  Pbae©. 


93,      ALEXANDER  AND  DIOGENES. 

Diogenes  Alexandro  roganti  ut  diceret,  Si  quid  opus  esset,  "nunc  quidem 
pauUulnm."  inquit,  "a  sole." — Cicero  Tusc.  Disp. 

King  Alexander  turned  aside  ; 

But  when  his  glance  of  youthful  pride 

Rested  upon  the  warriors  gray 

Who  bore  his  lance  and  shield  that  day. 

And  the  long  hue  of  spears,  that  came 

Through  the  far  grove  like  waves  of  flame. 


W.  M.  PEAED. 

His  forehead  burned,  his  pulse  beat  high, 
More  darkly  flashed  his  shifting  eye. 
And  visions  of  the  battle-plain 
Came  bursting  on  his  soul  again. 

The  old  man  drew  his  gaze  away 
Right  gladly  from  that  long  array. 
As  if  their  presence  were  a  blight 
Of  pain  and  sickness  to  his  sight ; 
And  slowly  folding  o'er  his  breast 
The  fragments  of  his  tattered  vest. 
As  was  his  wont,,  unasked,  unsought. 
Gave  to  the  winds  his  muttered  thought, 
Naming  no  name  of  friend  or  foe, 
And  reckless  if  they  heard  or  no. 

"Ay,  go  thy  way,  thou  painted  thing. 
Puppet,  which  mortals  call  a  king. 
Adorning  thee  with  idle  gems. 
With  drapery  and  diadems. 
And  scarcely  guessing,  that  beneath 
The  purple  robe  and  laurel  wreath, 
There's  nothing  but  the  common  slime 
Of  human  clay  and  human  crime ! — 
My  rags  are  not  so  rich, — but  they 
Will  serve  as  well  to  cloak  decay. 

"And  ever  round  thy  jewelled  brow 
False  slaves  and  falser  friends  will  bow ; 
And  Flattery, — as  varnish  flings 
A  baseness  on  the  brightest  things, — 
Will  make  the  monarch's  deeds  appear 
All  worthless  to  the  monarch's  ear. 
Till  thou  wilt  turn  and  think  that  Fame, 
So  vilely  dressed,  is  worse  than  shame  !— 
The  gods  be  thanked  for  all  their  mercies, 
Diogenes  hears  naught  but  curses ! 

"  And  thou  wilt  banquet ! — air  and  sea 
Will  render  up  their  hoards  for  thee ; 
And  golden  cups  for  thee  will  hold 
Rich  nectar,  richer  than  the  gold. 
The  cunning  caterer  still  must  share 
The  dainties  which  his  toils  prepare  ; 


357 


358  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

The  page's  lip  must  taste  the  wine 
Before  he  fills  the  cup  for  thine ! — 
Wilt  feast  with  me  on  Hecate's  cheer  ? 
I  dread  no  royal  hemlock  here ! 

"  And  night  will  come ;  and  thou  wilt  lie  ' 

Beneath  a  purple  canopy. 

With  lutes  to  lull  thee,  flowers  to  shed 

Their  feverish  fragrance  round  thy  bed, 

A  princess  to  unclasp  thy  crest, 

A  Spartan  spear  to  guard  thy  rest. — 

Dream,  happy  one  ! — thy  dreams  will  be 

Of  danger  and  of  perfidy ; — 

The  Persian  lance, — the  Carian  club ! — 

I  shall  sleep  sounder  in  my  tub ! 

"  And  thou  wilt  pass  away,  and  have 
A  marble  mountain  o'er  thy  grave. 
With  pillars  tall,  and  chambers  vast, 
Fit  palace  for  the  worm's  repast ! — 
I  too  shall  perish ! — let  them  call 
The  vulture  to  my  funeral ; 
The  Cynic's  staff,  the  Cynic's  den. 
Are  all  he  leaves  his  fellow-men, — 
Heedless  how  this  corruption  fares, — 
Yea,  heedless  though  it  mix  with  theirs  !" 


94.     WHAT  MAKES  A  HERO  ? 

What  makes  a  hero  ? — not  success,  not  fame, 
Inebriate  merchants,  and  the  loud  acclaim 

Of  glutted  avarice — caps  tossed  up  in  air, 

Or  pen  of  journalist,  with  flourish  fair. 
Bells  pealed,  stars,  ribbons,  and  a  titular  name — 

These,  though  his  rightful  tribute,  he  can  spare ; 
His  rightful  tribute,  not  his  end  or  aim, 

Or  true  reward ;  for  never  yet  did  these 
Refresh  the  soul,  or  set  the  heart  at  ease. 
What  makes  a  hero  ? — An  heroic  mind. 
Expressed  in  action,  in  endurance  proved : 

And  if  there  be  pre-eminence  of  right. 


HENKY  TAYLOK. — MitS.  HEMANS.  359 

Derived  through  pain  well  suflfered,  to  the  height 

Of  rank  heroic,  'tis  to  bear  unmoved, 

Ifot  toil,  not  risk,  not  rage  of  sea  or  wind, 

Not  the  brute  fury  of  barbarians  blind. 

But  worse — ingratitude  and  poisonous  darts, 
Launched  by  the  country  he  had  served  and  loved  ; 

This,  with  a  free,  unclouded  spirit  pure. 

This  in  the  strength  of  silence  to  endure, 
A  dignity  to  noble  deeds  imparts. 
Beyond  the  gauds  and  trappings  of  renown  5 
This  is  the  hero's  complement  and  crown ; 

This  missed,  one  struggle  had  been  wanting  still- 
One  glorious  triumph  of  the  heroic  will. 
One  self-approval  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 

Henry  Taylob. 


95.     THE  LANDING  OF  THE  TILGRIMS. 

The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast. 

And  the  woods  against  a  stormy  sky, 
Their  giant  branches  tossed  ; 

And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark 

Tlie  hills  and  waters  o'er. 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

Not  as  the  conqueror  comes. 

They  the  true-hearted  came. 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 

And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame. 

Not  as  the  flying  come. 

In  silence,  and  in  fear ; 
They  shook  the  depth  of  the  desert's  gloom, 

With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer 

Amidst  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 

And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 


360  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  liis  nest  by  the  white  wave's  foam. 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared ; 

This  was  their  welcome  home. 

There  were  men  with  hoary  hair, 

Amidst  that  pilgrim  band ; 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there. 

Away  from  their  childhood's  land  ! 

There  was  woman's  fearless  eye. 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow,  serenely  high, 

And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth. 

What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas,  the  spoils  of  war  ? — 

They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine ! 

Ay,  call  it  holy  ground. 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod ! 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found — 

Freedom  to  worship  God  !  ^^^^^  ^emanh. 


96.     DRONES. 


Those  gilded  flies 
That,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  a  com-t, 
Fatten  on  its  corruption,  what  are  they  ? 
The  drones  of  the  community.     They  feed 
On  the  mechanic's  labor  ;  the  starved  hind 
For  them  compels  the  stubborn  glebe  to  yield 
Its  unshared  harvests  ;  and  yon  squallid  form. 
Leaner  than  fleshless  misery  that  wastes 
A  sunless  life  in  the  unwholesome  mine. 
Drags  out  in  labor  a  protracted  death, 
To  glut  their  grandeur  ;  many  faint  with  toil. 
That  few  may  know  the  cares  and  woes  of  sloth. 

Whence  think'st  thou  kings  and  parasites  arose  ? 
Whence  that  unnatural  hive  of  drones,  who  heap 
Toil  and  imvanquishable  penury 
On  those  who  build  their  palaces  and  bring 


SHELLEY. — W.  C.  EKYANT.  361 

Their  daily  bread  ?     From  vice,  black,  loathsome  vice ; 
From  rapine,  madness,  treachery,  and  wrong ; 
From  all  that  genders  misery,  and  makes 
Of  earth  this  thorny  wilderness ;  from  lust. 
Revenge,  and  murder. 

And  when  reason's  voice. 
Loud  as  the  voice  of  Nature,  shall  have  waked 
Tlie  nations,  and  mankind  perceive  that  vice 
Is  discord,  war,  and  misery — that  virtue 
Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony-^- 
When  man's  maturer  nature  shall  disdain 
The  playthings  of  its  childhood — ^kingly  glare 
Will  lose  its  power  to  dazzle  ;  its  authority 
Will  silently  pass  away  ;  the  gorgeous  throne 
Shall  stand  unnoticed  in  their  regal  hall. 
Fast  falUng  to  decay  ;  whilst  falsehood's  trade 
Shall  be  as  hateful  and  unprofitable 
As  that  of  truth  is  now.  Shellbt 


97.     THANATOPSIS. 
(Tliese  parts  can  be  spoken  together,  or  separately.)     , 

To  him  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language.     For  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty  ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness,  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud  and  pall. 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house. 
Make  thee  to  shudder,  and  grow  sick  at  heart — 
Go  forth  unto  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air — 
Comes  a  still  voice — Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course.     Nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
16 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETIiT. 

Where  tliy  pale  form  was  laid,  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nomished  thee,  shall  claim 
Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again ; 
And  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendermg  up 
Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 
To  mix  forever  with  the  elements. 
To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock 
And  to  the  sluggish  clod,  which  the  rude  swain 
Tunis  with  his  share,  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 
Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mold 
Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone  ;  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world — with  kingr 
The  powerful  of  the  earth — the  wise,  the  good. 
Fair  forms,  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past. 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre.     The  hills. 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun  ;  the  vales. 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between  ; 
The  venerable  woods  ;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty  ;  and  the  complaining  brooks, 
-   That  make  the  meadow  green  ;  and  poured  rc^ixl  all. 
Old  Ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.  ^  ^  ^^^^^ 


98.     THE  SAME. PART  SECOND. 

The  golden  sun. 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven, 
Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death. 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slurnber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce ; 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound. 
Save  his  own  dashings  ;  yet — the  dead  are  there  ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 


W.  C.  BRYANT.  363 

In  their  last  sleep — the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

So  shalt  thou  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  fall 

Unnoticed  by  the  living,  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure  ?     All  that  breathe 

Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay<^  will  laugh 

When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 

Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 

His  favorite  phantom  !  yet  all  these  shall  leave 

Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come, 

And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 

Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men, 

The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 

In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 

The  bowed  with  age,  the  infant,  in  the  smiles 

And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  off — 

Shall,  one  by  one,  be  gathered  to  thy  side. 

By  those,  who,  in  their  turn,  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 

The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 

To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 

His  cha,mber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death. 

Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 

Scourged  to  his  dungeon  ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 

By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 

About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

W.  C.  Bryant 


99.      THE  MURDERED  TRAVELLER. 

When  spring,  to  woods  and  wastes  around. 

Brought  bloom  and  joy  again. 
The  murdered  traveller's  bones  were  found, 

Far  down  a  narrow  glen. 

The  fragrant  birch,  above  him,  hung 

Her  tassels  in  the  sky ; 
And  many  a  vernal  blossom  sprung. 

And  nodded  careless  by. 

The  red-bird  warbled,  as  he  wrought 
JHis  hanging  nest  o'erhead  ; 


364  SELECJTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

And  fearless,  near  the  fatal  spot. 
Her  young  the  partridge  led. 

But  there  was  weeping  far  away  ; 

And  gentle  eyes,  for  him. 
With  watching  many  an  anxious  day, 

Grew  sorrowful  and  dim. 

They  little  knew,  who  loved  him  so. 

The  fearful  death  he  met. 
When  shouting  o'er  the  desert  snow. 

Unarmed,  and  hard  beset ; — 

Nor  how,  when  round  the  frosty  pole 

The  northern  dawn  was  red, 
The  mountain  wolf  and  wild- cat  stole 

To  banquet  on  the  dead ; — 

Nor  how,  when  strangers  found  his  bones. 

They  dressed  the  hasty  bier. 
And  marked  his  grave  with  nameless  stones, 

Unmoistened  by  a  tear. 

But  long  they  looked,  and  feared,  and  wept, 

Within  his  distant  home ; 
And  dreamed,  and  started  as  they  slept. 

For  joy  that  he  was  come. 

So  long  they  looked — but  never  spied 

His  welcome  step  again. 
Nor  knew  the  fearful  death  he  died 

Far  down  that  narrow  glen.  ^  q  Brtan* 


100.      THE  HEROES  OF  SEVENTY-SIX. 

What  heroes  from  the  woodland  sprung, 
When,  through  the  fresh-awakened  land. 

The  thrilling  cry  of  freedom  rung. 

And  to  the  work  of  -wrarfare  strung 
The  yeoman's  iron  hand  ! 

Hills  flung  the  cry  to  hills  around  ; 
And  ocean-mart  replied  to  mart ; 
And  streams,  whose  springs  were  yet  unfound. 


W.  C.  BEYANT.  365 

Pealed  far  away  the  startling  sound 
Into  the  forest's  heart. 

Then  marched  the  brave  from  rocky  steep. 

From  mountain  river  swift  and  cold  ; 
The  borders  of  the  stormy  deep, 
The  vales  where  gathered  waters  sleep, 

Sent  up  the  strong  and  bold. 

As  if  the  very  earth  again 

Grew  quick  with  God's  creating  breath. 
And,  from  the  sods  of  grove  and  glen, 
Rose  ranks  of  iron-hearted  men, 

To  battle  to  the  death. 

The  wife,  whose  babe  first  smiled  that  day. 

The  fair  fond  bride  of  yester-eve. 
And  aged  sire  and  matron  gray. 
Saw  the  loved  warriors  haste  away. 

And  deemed  it  sin  to  grieve. 

Already  had  the  strife  begun ; 

Already  blood  on  Concord's  plain 
Along  the  springing  grass  had  run. 
And  blood  had  flowed  at  Lexington, 

Like  brook  of  April  rain. 

That  death-stain  on  the  vernal  sward 

Hallowed  to  freedom  all  the  shore  ; 
In  fragments  fell  the  yoke  abhorred — 
The  footstep  of  a  foreign  lord  ^ 

Profaned  the  soil  no  more.  -yy-  ^  Bbyani 


101.    THE  AFRICAN  CHIEF. 

Chained  in  the  market-place  he  stood, 

A  man  of  giant  frame. 
Amid  the  gathering  multitude 

That  shrunk  to  hear  his  name, — 
All  stern  of  look  and  strong  of  limb. 

His  dark  eye  on  the  ground ; — 
And  silently  they  gazed  on  liim,  * 

As  on  a  lion  bound. 


SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

Vainly,  but  well,  that  chief  had  fought,— ^ 

He  was  a  captive  now ; 
Yet  pride,  that  fortune  humbles  not, 

Was  written  on  his  brow. 
The  scars  his  dark  broad  bosom  wore, 

Showed  warrior  true  and  brave  ; 
A  prince  among  his  tribe  before. 

He  could  not  be  a  slave. 

Then  to  his  conqueror  he  spake— 

"  My  brother  is  a^  king  ; 
Undo  this  necklace  from  my  neck, 

And  take  this  bracelet  ring, 
And  send  me  where  ray  brother  reigns. 

And  I  will  fill  thy  hands 
With  store  of  ivory  from  the  plains, 

And  gold-dust  from  the  sands." 

"  Not  for  thy  ivory  nor  thy  gold 

Will  I  unbind  thy  chain  ; 
That  bloody  hand  shall  never  hold 

The  battle-speai'  again. 
A  price  thy  nation  never  gave. 

Shall  yet  loe  paid  for  thee ; 
For  thou  shalt  be  the  Christian's  slave. 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea." 

Then  wept  the  warrior  chief,  and  bade 

To  shred  his  locks  away  ; 
And,  one  by  one,  each  heavy  braid 

Before  the  victor  lay. 
Thick  were  the  plaited  locks,  and  long. 

And,  deftly  hidden  there. 
Shone  many  a  wedge  of  gold,  among 

The  dark  and  crisped  hair. 

"  Look,  feast  thy  greedy  eye  with  gold 

Long  kept  for  sorest  need  ; 
Take  it — thou  askest  sums  untold. 

And  say  that  I  am  freed. 
Take  it — ^iny  -yvife,  the  long,  long  day, 

Weeps  by  the  cocoa-tree. 
And  my  young' children  leave  their  play, 

And  ask  in  vain  for  me." 


W.  C.  BRTAIfT.  367 

"  I  take  thy  gold,  but  I  have  made 

Thy  fetters  fast  and  strong, 
And  ween  that  by  the  cocoa  shade 

Thy  wife  will  wait  thee  long." 
Strong  was  the  agony  that  shook 

The  captive's  frame  to  hear. 
And  the  proud  meaning  of  his  look 

Was  changed  to  mortal  fear 

His  heart  was  broken — crazed  his  brain  : 

At  once  his  eye  grew  wild ; 
He  struggled  fiercely  with  his  chain, 

Whispered,  and  wept,  and  smiled  ; 
Yet  wore  not  long  those  fatal  bands. 

And  once,  at  shut  of  day, 
They  drew  him  forth  upon  the  sands, 

The  foul  hyena's  prey.  ^  (j  jj^^^aut. 


102.     THE  HURRICANE. 

The  golden  blaze 
Of  the  sun  is  quenched  in  the  lurid  haze. 
And  he  sends  through  the  shade  a  funeral  ray- 
A  glare  that  is  neither  night  nor  day, 
A  beam  that  touches,  with  hues  of  death, 
The  clouds  above  and  the  earth  beneath. 
To  its  covert  glides  the  silent  bird. 
While  the  hurricane's  distant  voice  is  heard. 
Uplifted  among  the  mountains  round, 
And  the  forests  hear  and  answer  the  sound. 

He  is  come  !  he  is  come  !  do  ye  not  behold 
His  ample  robes  on  the  wind  unrolled  ? 
Giant  of  air  !  we  bid  thee  hail ! 
How  his  gray  skirts  toss  in  the  whirling  gale  ! 
How  his  huge  and  writhing  arms  are  bent. 
To  clasp  the  zone  of  the  firmament. 
And  fold  at  length  in  the  dark  embrace. 
From  mountain  to  mountain  the  visible  space  ! 

I)arker — still  darker  !  the  whirlwinds  bear 
The  dust  of  the  plains  to  the  middle  air  : 
And  hark  to  the  crashing,  long  and  loud. 
Of  the  chariot  of  God  in  the  thunder-cloud ! 


af|8.  SELECnONS  IN  POETRY. 

You  may  trace  its  path  by,  the  flashes  that  start 

From  the  rapid  wheels  where'er  they  dart. 

As  the  fire-bolts  leap  to  the  world  below, 

And  flood  the  sky  with  a  lurid  glow. 

What  roar  is  that  ? — 'tis  the  rain  that  breaks. 

In  torrents  away  from  the  airy  lakes. 

Heavily  poured  on  the  shuddering  ground, 

And  sheddmg  a  nameless  horror  round. 

Ah !  well-known  woods,  and  mountains,  and  skies. 

With  the  very  clouds  ! — ^ye  are  lost  to  my  eyes. 

I  seek  ye  vainly,  and  see  in  your  place 

The  shadowy  tempest  that  sweeps  through  jpace, 

A  whirling  ocean  that  fills  the  wall 

Of  the  crystal  heaven,  and  buries  all ; 

And  I,  cut  off"  from  the  world,  remain 

Alone  with  the  terrible  hurricane.  w  n  -d 

W.  C,  Bryant. 


103.    THE  TWENTY-SECOND  OF  DECEMBER. 

Wild  was  the  day  ;  the  wintry  sea 
Moaned  sadly  on  New  England's  strand. 
When  first,  the  thoughtful  and  the  free. 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land. 

They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light. 
With  years,  should  gather  round  that  day. 
How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright. 
How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway. 

Green  are  their  bays  ;  but  greener  still 

Shall  rcftiiid  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed. 

And  regions,  now  untrod,  shall  thrill 

With  reverence,  when  their  names  are  breathed. 

Till  where  the  sun,  with  softer  fires. 
Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  Pilgrim  sires 
This  hallowed  day  hke  us  shall  keep. 


W.  C.  Bryanx. 


H.  W.  LONGFELLOW.  361? 


104.      A  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 

Tell  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 

Life  is  but  an  empty  dream ; 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 

And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real ! — life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal : 
Dust  thou  art — to  dust  returnest, 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow. 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

Find  us  further  than  to-day. 

Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting. 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave. 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  life. 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle, — 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife ! 

Trust  no  future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead  ! 
Act — act  in  the  living  present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead. 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  U3 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime. 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time ; — 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another. 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother. 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 

Let  us,  then,  be  up  and  doing. 

With  a  heart  for  any  fate ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait ! 


H.  W.  Longfellow. 


16* 


370  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


105,      THE  LEPER. 


"Room  for  the  leper  !  room !"    And,  as  he  came, 
The  cry  passed  on — "  Room  for  the  leper  !  room  !" 

And  aside  they  stood — 
Matron,  and  child,  and  pitiless  manhood — all 
Who  met  him  on  his  way,  and  let  him  pass. 
And  onward  through  the  open  gate  he  came, 
A  leper,  with  the  ashes  on  his  brow, 
Sackcloth  about  his  loins,  and  on  his  lip 
A  covering, — stepping  painfully  and  slow. 
And  with  a  difficult  utterance,  like  one 
Whose  heart  is  with  an  iron  nerve  put  down, 
Crying,  "  Unclean  !  unclean  !" 

'Twas  now  the  first 
Of  the  Judean  autumn,  and  the  leaves. 
Whose  shadows  lay  so  still  upon  his  path, 
Had  put  their  beauty  forth  beneath  the  eye 
Of  Judah's  loftiest  noble.     He  was  young. 
And  eminently  beautiful,  and  life 
Mantled  in  eloquent  fulness  on  his  lip, 
And  sparkled  in  his  glance ;  and  in  his  mien 
There  was  a  gracious  pride  that  every  eye 
Followed  witli  benisons — and  this  was  he ! 
With  the  soft  airs  of  summer,  there  had  come 
A  torpor  on  his  frame,  which  not  the  speed 
Of  his  best  barb,  nor  music,  nor  the  blast 
Of  the  bold  huntsman's  horn,  nor  aught  that  stirs 
The  spirit  to  its  bent,  might  drive  away. 
The  blood  beat  not  as  wont  within  his  veins  ; 
Dimness  crept  o'er  his  eye  ;  a  drowsy  sloth 
Fettered  his  limbs  like  palsy,  and  his  mien. 
With  all  its  loftiness,  seemed  struck  with  eld. 
Even  his  voice  was  changed — a  languid  moan 
Taking  the  place  of  the  clear  silver  key ; 
And  brain  and  sense  grew  faint,  as  if  the  light 
And  very  air  were  steeped  in  sluggishness. 
He  strove  with  it  a  while,  as  manhood  will. 
Ever  too  proud  for  weakness,  till  the  rein 
Slackened  within  his  grasp,  and  in  its  poise 
The  arrowy  jereed,  like  an  aspen,  shook. 
Day  after  day,  he  lay  as  if  asleep  : 


N.  P.  WILLIS. — A.  B.  STREET.  371 

His  skin  grew  dry  and  bloodless,  and  white  scales. 
Circled  with  livid  purple,  covered  him, 
— And  Helon  was  a  leper ! 

It  was  noon. 
And  Helon  knelt  beside  a  stagnant  pool 
In  the  lone  wilderness,  and  bathed  his  brow, 
Hot  with  the  burning  leprosy,  and  touched 
The  loathsome  water  to  his  fevered  lips. 
Praying  that  he  might  be  so  blest — to  die  ! 
Footsteps  approached,  and,  with  no  strength  to  flee. 
He  drew  the  covering  closer  on  his  lip. 
Crying,  "  Unclean  !  unclean !"  and  in  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth  shrouding  up  his  face, 
He  fell  upon  the  earth  till  they  should  pass. 
Nearer  the  Stranger  came,  and,  bending  o'er 
The  leper's  prostrate  form,  pronounced  his  name- 
"  Helon !"     The  voice  was  like  the  master-tone 
Of  a  rich  instrument — most  strangely  sweet ; 
And  the  dull  pulses  of  disease  awoke. 
And  for  a  moment  beat  beneath  the  hot 
And  leprous  scales  with  a  restoring  thrill. 
**  Helon  !  arise  !"  and  he  forgot  his  curse. 
And  rose  and  stood  before  Him. 
He  looked  on  Helon  earnestly  a  while, 
As  if  his  heart  were  moved,  and  stooping  down. 
He  took  a  little  water  in  his  hand. 
And  laid  it  on  his  brow,  and  said,  "  Be  clean !" 
And  lo  !  the  scales  fell  from  him,  and  his  blood 
Coursed  with  delicious  coolness  through  his  veins, 
And  his  dry  palms  grew  moist,  and  on  his  brow 
The  dewy  softness  of  an  infant's  stole. 
His  leprosy  was  cleansed,  and  he  fell  down 
Prostrate  at  Jesus'  feet  and  worshipped  him. 

K  P.  WiLLia. 


106.     NATURE. 


Nature  is  man's  best  teacher.     She  unfolds 
Her  treasures  to  his  search,  unseals  his  eye. 
Illumes  his  mind,  and  purifies  his  heart. 
Her  influence  breathes  in  all  the  sights  and  sounds 
Of  her  existence ;  she  is  Wisdom's  self. 


372  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

Rest  yields  she  to  the  weary  of  the  earth ; 
Its  heavy-laden  she  endows  with  strength. 
When  sorrow  presses  on  us,  when  the  stings 
Of  bitter  disappointment  pierce  our  soul. 
When  our  eye  sickens  at  the  sight  of  man. 
Our  ear  turns  loathing  from  his  jarring  voice, — 
The  shadowy  forest  and  the  quiet  field 
Are  then  our  comforters.     A  medicine 
Breathes  in  the  wind  that  fans  our  fevered  brow. 
The  blessed  sunshine  yields  a  sweet  delight, 
The  bird's  low  warble  thrills  within  our  breast. 
The  flower  is  eloquent  with  peace  and  joy. 
And  better  thoughts  come  o'er  us.     Lighter  heart 
And  purer  feelings  cheer  our  homeward  way. 
We  prize  more  deep  the  blessings  that  are  ours. 
And  rest  a  higher,  holier  trust  in  God. 

And  when  the  splendid  summer  moonlight  bathes. 
Blinding  the  stars,  night's  purple  sky,  in  rich, 
Transparent  splendor,  brightening  all  below, 
As  though,  at  God's  command,  earth's  angel-guard 
Had  dropped  his  silver  mantle  from  his  form 
Upon  her,  to  protect  her  helpless  sleep. 
Nature  speaks  soothing  music,  stealing  through 
Each  avenue  to  the  heart,  till  all  is  peace. 

She  teaches  us  of  God, 
Her  Architect — her  Master.     At  his  feet 
She  crouches,  and  in  offering  him  her  praise 
From  myriad  altars,  and  in  myriad  tones. 
She  bids  man  praise  him  also.     In  the  broad 
Magnificent  ocean,  surging  in  wild  foam. 
Yet  bounded  in  its  madness ;  in  the  fierce. 
Shrieking,  and  howling  tempest,  crashing  on 
In  desolating  wrath,  yet  curbed  with  reins, — 
She  shows  Ms  awful  power,  yet  tender  care  : 
In  the  wide  sunlight,  in  the  murmuring  rains, 
And  changes  of  the  seasons,  she  proclaims 
His  wide  beneficence,  exhaustless  love.       ^  j^  Strebr 


A.  B.  STREET.  373 


107.      THE  POOR  INDIAN. 


Fast  the  white  race  spread, 

And  fast  they  scattered  here  rude  clearings  through 

The  leafy  desert.     The  tall  blockhouse  rose, 

Surrounded  by  its  stooping  cabin-roofs. 

And  belted  with  its  pointed  palisades. 

The  axe  rung  always,  and  the  echoes  woke 

To  the  down-crashing  woods.     Green  meadows  sprung 

From  the  wood-moss,  and  cattle  lowed  where  rose 

The  bleating  of  the  deer,  and  where  the  wolf 

Howled  to  the  moon.     The  rifle  brought  quick  death, 

In  hard,  strong  hands,  to  the  majestic  moose 

And  bounding  deer.     The  eagle  stooped  to  it. 

The  darting  salmon  felt  the  barbed  point 

Of  the  torch-lighted  spear  ;  the  spotted  trout 

Leapt  at  the  butterfly,  and  found  quick  death. 

The  beaver,  paddling  round  his  ancient  stream. 

Felt  the  sharp  talons  of  some  hidden  trap, 

And  meekly  died.     The  otter  rose  to  breathe, 

And  saw  the  red  shot  glancing  from  the  bush — 

And  gasped  in  blood.     The  winter  snows  fell  deep ; 

And  the  pale,  starving  Indian,  lingering  near 

The  pale-face  village,  sought  in  vain  the  deer. 

For  paths,  broad-stamped  around  with  snow-shoes,  told 

The  white  man's  rifle  had  been  there  before  him. 

In  vain  he  sought  the  drifts  that  choked  so  deep 

The  laurels,  for  the  partridge  or  the  quail ; 

In  vain  he  searched  the  hollow  tree,  made  mad 

With  hunger,  for  the  torpid  bear,  to  wrestle 

E*en  with  that  shaggy  foeman  for  Lis  flesh. 

Skill  and  strange  knowledge  also  had  been  there, 

And,  on  the  village  green,  with  forehead  bored 

With  the  swift  bullet,  stood  the  black  square  frame 

Of  the  dead  monster,  frozen  stiff"  with  cold. 

What  wonder  that  he  clutched  his  tomahawk 

And  drew  his  knife,  and  swore,  on  bended  knee, 

By  Hah-wen-ne-yo,  he  would  be  revenged  ! 

What  wonder  that  the  midnight  sky  blushed  red  ! 

What  wonder  that  the  settler  sank  in  death 

Beside  his  plough,  or  tinged  the  golden  wheat 

With  his  own  blood  !     What  wonder  that  the  child 

Saw  the  fierce  eyeball  gleaming  from  the  thicket. 


374  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

--^.       And  fell  ere  he  could -reach  his  shrieking  mother ; 

/      /-"^Who  felt  in  turn  her  reeking  scalp  clutched  off 
/      y    Her  burning  head  !     What  wonder  black  revenge 
r"'*f-'    Looked  from  the  heavens  :  the  forests  echoed  it 


In  the  wild  storm !     The  winter  snows  were  piled 
High  with  its  curses,  and  e'en  green-garbed  spring. 
That  brought  her  birds,  her  flowers,  and  grass  and  light 
To  the  cursed  white  men,  howled  revenge  to  them. 

But  naught  could  daunt  the  white  man's  energy : 

The  valleys  smiled  with  culture  ;  mountain-sides 

Grew  green  with  pastures,  and  their  soaring  tops 

E'en  bore  rough  clearings :  by  the  trapper's  streams. 

Rose  roofs  ;  and  rivers,  like  the  winter  woods, 

Were  flaked  with  sails.     Life,  active,  prosperous  life, 

Ran  through  the  woods  and  mantled  o'er  the  land. 

As  the  tree  fell,  the  log-hut  sprang  in  place ; 

The  log-hut,  hke  the  tent  in  fairy  tale. 

Expanded  to  the  village — like  the  wand 

Of  the  enchanter,  budding,  sprouting  forth  ; 

Or  like  the  gourd  mysterious  of  the  prophet, 

The  village  spread,  in  turn,  into  a  city.  ^  -g  g^^g^- 


\ 


108.      THE  SIX  NATIONS,  OR  IROQUOIS. 

Proud  and  majestic  was  that  native  race. 

The  Iroquois  !  once  masters  of  our  State. 

Leagued  into  one  ^vQ^i  union,  five  wild  tribes 

Towered  o'er  the  boundless  forest  of  their  home. 

Conquerors  of  all  the  tawny  races  dwelling 

Where  dwell  the  swarming  thousands  of  our  Union  : 

Thus  lifting  their  plumed  foreheads  to  the  clouds. 

And  stretching  their  keen  tomahawk  and  knife 

From  where  St.  Lawrence  its  tremendous  floods 

Rolls  through  his  half  year  snow-blocked,  ice-clad  woods. 

To  where  the  rich  magnolia  swings  its  breath 

In  radiant  Florida's  eternal  summer. 

Wise  were  their  laws  and  noble  were  their  hves. 

Hearing  their  forests  thundering  in  the  storm, 

And  seeing  them  put  on  their  changing  garb 

To  every  changing  season.     For  them  rose 


A.  B.  STREET.  3Y5 

The  wood-swathed  mountain,  cloud-capped ;  for  them  smiled 

The  green  and  leafy  valley  ;  silver  waters 

Rose  to  their  lips,  and  food  of  earth  and  air 

Fell  to  their  arrows.     The  stern  and  awful  roar 

Of  great  Niagara  filled  the  western  end 

Of  their  Long  House,  and  by  its  eastern  door 

The  peaceful  Hudson  flowed  in  whispers  low. 

Within  that  Long  House  every  bird  that  flies. 

From  the  strong  eagle  soaring  to  the  sun 

To  the  rich  humming-bird  that  murmurs  sweet 

Around  its  flowers,  was  theirs;  and  every  shape 

That  only  claimed  the  ground  whereon  to  dwell. 

From  the  tall  moose  that  trampled  underneath 

His  broad  splay-hoofs  strong  saplings  branched  with  leaves 

That  made  the  wren's  and  robin's  nested  home 

A  sylvan  pillar,  tore  with  craunching  teeth 

The  moose-wood's  mottled  bark,  and  from  whose  front 

The  hungry  panther  turned  his  blazing  eyes, 

To  the  striped  squirrel  rolling  to  his  grot 

The  oak's  brown  acorn,  all,  alone  were  theirs. 

Where  are  they  now,  the  noble  Iroquois  ! 

Where  are  they  now !     The  hollow  echo  gives 

!N'o  answer,  for  the  forests  where  they  lived 

Have  vanished  utterly.     Where  are  they  now  ! 

Answer,  ye  scattered  spectres,  wearing  aye 

Your  sunken  heads  upon  your  tawny  breasts, 

And  staggering  in  the  white  man's  midst,  a  shame 

To  human  nature  ;  or,  perchance,  aloof 

Wandering  around  the  sparkling  streams  that  once 

Flashed  to  your  paddle — through  the  woods  that  rang 

Once  to  your  war-whoop, — scathed  and  blighted  men, 

Answer,  and  from  your  pale  and  trembling  lips 

Would  come,  "Go,  ask  the  white  man  in  his  pride 

What,  what  hath  bowed  the  red  man  to  the  dust ; 

His  power,  his  strength,  his  might,  that  made  his  law 

And  trampled  us  as  Autumn  in  his  fury. 

Rends  the  sear  leaves,  and  tramples  them  to  earth, 

The  sad  memorials  of  relentless  power."  a  B  «? 


376  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


109.      A  FOREST  NOOK. 


A  NOOK  -within  the  forest ;  overhead 

The  branches  arch,  and  shape  a  pleasant  bower, 

Breaking  white  cloud,  blue  sky,  and  sunshine  bright 

Into  pure  ivory  and  sapphire  spots 

And  flecks  of  gold ;  a  soft,  cool  emerald  tint 

Colors  the  air,  as  though  the  dehcate  leaves 

Emitted  self-born  light.     What  splendid  walls, 

And  what  a  gorgeous  roof^  carved  by  the  hand 

Of  glorious  Nature  !     Here  the  spruce  thrusts  in 

Its  bristling  plume,  tipped  with  its  pale-green  points. 

The  hemlock  shows  its  borders  freshly  fringed. 

The  smoothly  scalloped  beech-leaf,  and  the  birch, 

Cut  into  ragged  edges,  interlace. 

While  here  and  there,  through  clefts,  the  laurel  hangs 

Its  gorgeous  chahces  half-brimmed  with  dew, 

As  though  to  hoard  it  for  the  haunting  elves 

The  moonlight  calls  to  this  their  festal  hall. 

A  thick,  rich  grassy  carpet  clothes  the  earth 

Sprinkled  with  autumn  leaves.     The  fern  displays 

Its  fluted  wreath  beaded  beneath  with  drops 

Of  richest  brown ;  the  wild-rose  spreads  its  breast 

Of  dehcate  pink,  and  the  o'erhanging  fir 

Has  dropped  its  dark,  long  cone. 

Such  nooks  as  this  are  common  in  the  woods  : 

And  all  these  sights  and  sounds  the  commonest 

In  Nature  when  she  wears  her  summer  prime. 

Yet  by  them  pass  not  lightly  :  to  the  wise 

They  tell  the  beauty  anji  the  harmony 

Of  e'en  the  lowliest  things  that  God  hath  made. 

That  this  famihar  earth  and  sky  are  full 

Of  his  ineffiable  power  and  majesty. 

That  in  the  humble  objects,  seen  too  oft 

To  be  regarded,  is  such  wondrous  grace. 

The  art  of  man  is  vain  to  imitate. 

That  the  low  flower  our  careless  foot  treads  down 

Is  a  rich  shrine  of  incense  delicate. 

And  radiant  beauty,  and  that  God  hath  formed 

All,  from  the  mountain  wreathing  round  its  brow 

The  black  cars  of  the  thunder,  to  the  grain 

Of  silver  sand  the  bubbling  spring  casts  up, 

With  deepest  forethought  and  severest  care. 


A.  B.  STREET. J.  E.  LOWELL.  377 

And  thus  these  noteless,  lowly  things  are  types 

Of  his  perfection  and  divinity.  ^  g  Steeei 


110.      THE  POOR  ANp  THE  RICH. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  lands, 
And  piles  of  brick  and  stone  and  gold. 
And  tender  flesh  that  fears  the  cold, 
Nor  dares  to  wear  a  garment  old  ; 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
One  would  not  care  to  hold  in  fee. 

The  rich  man's  son  inherits  cares. 

The  bank  may  break,  the  factory  burn, 

Some  breath  may  burst  his  bubble  shares. 

And  soft  white  hands  would  scarcely  earn 

A  living  that  would  suit  his  turn  ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

One  would  not  care  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

Stout  muscles  and  a  sinewy  heart, 

A  hardy  frame,  a  hardier  spirit ; 

King  of  two  hands,  he  does  his  part 

In  every  useful  toil  and  art ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

Wishes  o'erjoyed  with  humble  things, 

A  rank  adjudged  by  toil-worn  merit. 

Content  that  from  enjoyment  springs, 

A  heart  that  in  his  labor  sings ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 

What  does  the  poor  man's  son  inherit  ? 

A  patience  learned  by  being  poor ; 

Courage,  if  sorrow  come,  to  bear  it ; 

A  fellow  feeling  that  is  sure 

To  make  the  outcast  bless  his  door ; 

A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 

A  king  might  wish  to  hold  in  fee. 


378^ 

^«-  Oh,  rich  man's  son,  there  is  a  toil 

That  with  all  others  level  stands  ;  j 

Large  charity  doth  never  soil, 
,,  But  only  whitens,  soft  white  hands  ; 

This  is  the  best  crop  from  thy  lands — 
X   ""K-W.         A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me, 
^      "^     -/r~l  Worth  being  rich  to  hold  in  fee. 

Oh,  poor  man's  son,  scorn  not  thy  state ! 
There  is  worse  weariness  than  thine, — 
In  being  merely  rich  and  great : 
1  Work  only  makes  the  soul  to  shine, 

X\.         And  makes  rest  fragrant  and  benign, — 
f  A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 

Worth  being  poor  to  hold  in  fee. 

Both  heirs  to  some  six  feet  of  sod. 
Are  equal  in  the  earth  at  last — 
\  Both  children  of  the  same  dear  God, 

'^,  Prove  title  to  your  heirship  vast, 

By  record  of  a  well-filled  past ! 
A  heritage,  it  seems  to  me. 
Well  worth  a  life  to  hold  in  fee.  j^  j^  Iowbil 


111.      THE  FIGHT  OF  PASO  DEL  MAR. 

Gusty  and  raw  was  the  morning, 

A  fog  hung  over  the  seas. 
And  its  gray  skirts,  rolling  inland. 

Were  torn  by  the  mountain  trees ; 
No  sound  was  heard,  but  the  dashing 

Of  waves  on  the  sandy  bar. 
When  Pablo  of  San  Diego 

Rode  down  to  the  Paso  del  Mar. 

The  pescador,  out  in  his  shallop. 

Gathering  his  harvest  so  wide. 
Sees  the  dim  bulk  of  the  headland 

Loom  over  the  waste  of  the  tide  ; 
He  sees,  like  a  white  thread,  the  pathway 

Wind  round  on  the  terrible  wall. 
Where  the  faint,  moving  speck  of  the  rider 

Seems  hoverinsc  close  to  its  fall ! 


BAYAJJD  TAYLOE.  379 

Stout  Pablo  of  San  Diego 

Rode  down  from  the  hills  behind  ; 
With  the  bells  on  his  gray  mule  tinkling, 

He  sang  through  the  fog  and  wind. 
Under  his  thick,  misted  eyebrows. 

Twinkled  his  eye  like  a  star, 
And  fiercer  he  sang,  as  the  sea- winds 

Drove  cold  on  the  Paso  del  Mar. 

Now  Bernal,  the  herdsman  of  Coiral, 

Had  travelled  the  shore  since  dawn, 
Leaving  the  ranches  behind  him — 

Good  reason  had  he  to  be  gone  ! 
The  blood  was  still  red  on  his  dagger. 

The  fury  was  hot  in  his  brain, 
And  the  chill,  driving  scud  of  the  breakers 

Beat  thick  on  his  forehead  in  vain. 

With  his  blanket  wrapped  gloomily  round  him. 

He  mounted  the  dizzying  road. 
And  the  chasms  and  steeps  of  the  headland 

Were  shppery  and  wet,  as  he  trode ; 
Wild  swept  the  wind  of  the  ocean, 

Rolling  the  fog  from  afar, 
When  near  him  a  mule-bell  came  tinkling, 

Midway  on  the  Paso  del  Mar ! 

"  Back  !"  shouted  Bernal,  full  fiercely. 

And  "  Back  !"  shouted  Pablo,  in  wrath; 
As  his  mule  halted,  startled  and  shrinking. 

On  the  perilous  line  of  the  path  ! 
The  roar  of  devouring  surges 

Came  up  from  the  breakers*  hoarse  war ; 
And  *'  Back,  or  you  perish  !"  cried  Bernal, 

"  I  turn  not  on  Paso  del  Mar !" 

The  gray  mule  stood  firm  as  the  headland ; 

He  clutched  at  the  jinghng  rein. 
When  Pablo  rose  up  in  his  saddle. 

And  smote,  till  he  dropped  it  again. 
A  wild  oath  of  passion  swore  Bernal, 

And  brandished  his  dagger,  still  red. 
While  fiercely  stout  Pablo  leaned  forward. 

And  fought  o'er  his  trusty  mule's  head. 


S80  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

They  fought,  till  the  black  wall  below  them 

Shone  red  through  the  misty  blast ; 
Stout  Pablo  then  struck,  leaning  further. 

The  broad  breast  of  Bernal  at  last. 
And,  phrensied  with  pain,  the  swart  herdsman 

Closed  round  him  his  terrible  grasp, 
And  jerked  him,  despite  of  his  struggles, 

Down  from  the  mule,  in  his  clasp. 

They  grappled  with  desperate  madness 
On  the  slippery  edge  of  the  wall, 

They  swayed  on  the  brink,  and  together 
Reeled  out  to  the  rush  of  the  fall ! 

A  cry  of  the  wildest  death-anguish 
Rang  faint  through  the  mist  afar. 

And  the  riderless  mule  went  homeward 


From  the  fight  of  the  Paso  del  Mar ! 


Bayari*  Taylob. 


\ 


112.     LAMENT  OF  THE  INDIAN  CHIEFTAIN. 

At  Onondaga  burned  the  sacred  fire 

A  thousand  winters,  with  unwasting  blaze ; 
In  guarding  it,  son  emulated  sire. 

And  far  abroad  were  flung  its  dazzling  rays  : 
Followed  were  happy  years  by  evil  days  ; 

Blue-eyed  and  pale,  came  children  of  the  Dawn, 
Tall  spires  on  site  of  bark-built  town  to  raise  ; 

Change  graves  of  beauty  to  a  naked  lawn, 
And  whirl  their  chariot  wheels  where  led  the  doe  her  fawn. 

Where  are  the  mighty  ? — morning  finds  them  not ! 

I  call — and  echo  gives  response  alone  ; 
The  fiery  bolt  of  Ruin  hath  been  shot — 

The  blow  is  struck — the  winds  of  death  have  blown — 
Cold  are  their  hearths — their  altars  overthrown  ! 

For  them  with  smoking  venison  the  board. 
Reward  of  toilsome  chase,  no  more  will  groan : 

Sharper  than  hatchet  proved  the  Conqueror's  sword, 
And  blood,  in  fruitless  strife,  like  water  they  outpoured. 

Oh  !  where  is  Garangula — Sachem  wise, — 
Who  was  the  father  of  his  people  ? — where 


W.  II.  C.  HOSMER.  381 

King  Hendrick — Cay-en-guacto  ? — who  replies  ? 

And,  Skenandoali,  was  thy  silver  hair 
Brought  to  the  dust  in  sorrow  and  despair 

By  pale  oppressors,  though  thy  bow  was  strung 
To  guard  their  Thirteen  Fires  ? — they  did  not  spare 

E'en  thee,  old  chieftain !  and  thy  tuneful  tongue 
The  death-dirge  of  thy  race,  in  measured  cadence,  sung. 

The-an-de-nea-ya*  of  the  martial  brow, 

Gy-ant-waf — Hon-ne-ya-wus,J  where  are  they  ? 
Sa-gay-ye-wat-hah§  !  is  he  silent  now, 

Will  listening  throngs  no  more  his  voice  obey  ? 
Like  visions  have  the  mighty  passed  away : 

Their  tears  descend  in  raindrops,  and  their  sighs 
Are  heard  in  wailing  winds  when  evening  gray 

Shadows  the  landscape,  and  their  mournful  eyes 
Gleam  in  the  misty  light  of  moon-illumined  skies. 

Gone  are  my  tribesmen,  and  another  race. 

Born  of  the  foam,  disclose  with  plough  and  spade 
Secrets  of  battle-field  and  burial-place  ; 

And  hunting-grounds,  once  dark  with  pleasant  shade. 
Bask  in  the  golden  light ; — ^but  I  have  made 

A  pilgrimage  from  far  to  look  once  more 
On  scenes  through  which  in  childhood's  hour  I  strayed ; 

Though  robbed  of  might  my  limbs — my  locks  all  hoar, 
And  on  this  holy  mount  mourn  for  the  day's  of  yore. 

Around  me  soon  will  bloom  unfading  flowers. 

Ye  glorious  Spirit-Islands  of  the  just ! 
No  fatal  axe  will  hew  away  your  bowers. 

Or  lay  the  green-robed  forest  king  in  dust ; — 
Far  from  the  spoiler's  fury,  and  his  lust 

Of  boundless  power,  will  1  my  fathers  meet. 
Tiaras  wearing  never  dimmed  by  rust ; 

And  they,  while  airs  waft  music  passing  sweet. 
To  blest  abodes  will  guide  my  silver-sandalled  feet. 

W.  H.  C.  HOSMEB. 

*  Brant.  f  Corn-planter. 

\  Farmer's  Brother.  §  Red  Jacket. 


382  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

113.      ORIGIN  OF  THE  CROW. 
(a  legend  of  the  SENECAS.) 

Weary  and  worn  old  Tar-yon-ee 

Was  slumbering  in  the  days  of  yore, 
Under  a  leafy  white-wood  tree, 

That  grew  beside  his  cabin  door ; 
Giving  the  wood  a  deeper  brown, 
A  raven,  huge  and  black,  came  down. 
And  hungering  for  human  prey. 
In  his  talons  bore  the  Chief  away. 

A  rush  of  wings — a  dismal  shriek, 

The  Tribe,  with  horror  voiceless,  heard, 
.  While  sailed  to  a  distant  mountain  peak. 
With  bleeding  prize,  that  cruel  bird : 
Soon  finished  was  its  dread  repast. 
And  up  the  monster  hurried  fast. 
Leaving,  to  whiten  in  the  wind, 
A  pile  of  naked  bones  behind. 

Heh-nu — dark  Thunder- God  ! — espied 

The  creature  flying  to  its  nest. 
Far  in  those  regions  blue  and  wide. 

That  over  stormy  Cloudland  rest  :-^ 
On  his  resounding  bow  he  laid 
A  shaft  of  ragged  hghtning  made. 
While  the  gorged  monster,  at  the  sight, 
Clapped  pinions  for  a  swifter  flight. 

Outstretched  was  its  long  neck  in  vain. 

Soaring  through  air  with  frightful  cries, 
To  reach  its  azure  perch  again 

On  wall  that  fenced  remoter  skies  : 
O'ertaken  by  a  missile  dire. 
Scorched  was  each  plume  by  hissing  fire, 
And  redly  the  dismembered  form 
Was  showered  to  earth  in  atoms  warm. 

A  hunter  on  the  hills,  in  fear. 

Watched  the  torn  fragments  as  they  fell. 
Forgetful  of  a  wounded  deer 

That  limped  for  shelter  to  the  dell ; 


W.  II.  C.  nOSMEK. — A.  C.  COX.  383 

But  wilder  terror  thrilled  his  heart, 
When  shape  took  each  disrupted  part, 
And  darkly,  from  the  ground  uprose. 
Croaking  their  joy,  a  flock  of  crows. 

Beneath  a  cedar  tall  and  green. 

The  bones  of  Tar-yon-ee  were  laid ; 
His  mountain  tomb  may  yet  be  seen 

Within  its  ever-during  shade : 
Ill-omened  ravens  blacken  oft 
Its  branches  towering  aloft, 
And  load  with  clamor  loud  the  air, 
As  if  they  held  a  council  there. 

Vf.  H.  C.  HOSMEB. 


114.     WATCHWORDS. 

We  are  living, — we  are  dwelling 

In  a  grand  and  awful  time ; 
In  an  age,  on  ages  telling. 

To  be  living — is  sublime. 

Hark !  the  waking  up  of  nations, 
Gog  and  Magog,  to  the  fray ; 

Hark !  what  soundeth,  is  Creation's 
Groaning  for  its  latter  day. 

Will  ye  play  then !  will  ye  dally, 
With  your  music,  with  your  wine  ? 

Up  !  it  is  Jehovah's  rally ! 

God's  own  arm  hath  need  of  thine. 

Hark,  the  onset !  will  ye  fold  your 
Faith-clad  arms  in  lazy  lock ! 

Up,  oh  up,  thou  drowsy  soldier ! 
Worlds  are  charging  to  the  shock. 

Worlds  are  charging — Heaven  beholding ; 

Thou  hast  but  an  hour  to  fight ; 
Now,  the  blazoned  cross  unfolding. 

On — right  onward,  for  the  right  I 

What !  still  hug  thy  dreamy  slumbers  ? 
'    'Tis  no  time  for  idling  play : 


384  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

Wreaths,  and  dance,  and  poet-numbers. 
Flout  them !  we  must  work  to-day ! 

Fear  not !  spurn  the  worldling's  laughter ; 

Thine  ambition — ^trample  thou  ! 
Thou  shalt  find  a  long  Hereafter, 
^To  be  more  than  tempts  thee  now. 

On !  let  all  the  soul  within  you. 
For  the  ti-uth's  sake,  go  abroad ! 

Strike !  let  every  nerve  and  sinew 
Tell  on  ages — tell  for  God ! 

A.  0.  Oox. 


115.     TO  THE  AMERICAN  FLAG. 

When  freedom  from  her  mountain  height 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air. 

She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night. 
And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there !    ■ 

She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 

The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies. 

And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 

With  streakings  from  the  morning  light ! 

Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun. 

She  called  her  eagle-bearer  down, 

And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 

The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land ! 

Flag  of  the  free  heart's  only  home. 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given ! 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven ; 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us 
With  freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet. 

And  freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us. 

Flag  of  the  brave  !  thy  folds  shall  fly. 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high  ! 
When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet's  tone. 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on : 
Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet. 


J.  K.  DKAKE. OLIVER  W.  HOLMES.  386 

Has  dimmed  the  glistening  bayonet. 
Each  soldier's  eye  shall  brightly  turn 
To  where  thy  meteor  glories  burn  ; 
And  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 
Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance ! 
And  when  the  cannon's  mouthings  loud 
Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle-shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall. 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight  pall ! — 
There  shall  thy  victor  glances  glow. 

And  cowiering  foes  shall  fall  beneath 
Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 

That  lovely  messenger  of  death ! 

Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean's  wave. 
Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave, 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale. 
Sweeps  darkly  round  the  swelling  sail. 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 
Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 
Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 
And  smile  to  see  thy  splendors  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 

J.  R.  Deak* 


116.     OLD  IRONSIDES. 

Ay,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down ! 

Long  has  it  waved  on  high  ; 
And  many  an  eye  has  danced  to  see 

That  banner  in  the  sky  ; 
Beneath  it  rung  the  battle  shout. 

And  burst  the  cannon's  roar ; — 
The  meteor  of  the  ocean  air 

Shall  sweep  the  clouds  no  more. 

Her  deck, — once  red  with  heroes'  blood, 
Where  knelt  the  vanquished  foe. 

When  winds  were  hurrying  o'er  the  flood, 
And  waves  were  white  below, — 
17 


886  SELECTIONS  IN  POETK\ 

No  more  sliall  feel  the  victor's  tread, 

Or  know  the  conquered  knee ; — 
The  harpies  of  the  shore  shall  pluck 

The  eagle  of  the  sea  ! 

Oh !  better  that  her  shattered  hulk 

Should  sink  beneath  the  wave ; 
Her  thunders  shook  the  mighty  deep, 

And  there  should  be  her  grave : 
Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag, 

Set  every  threadbare  sail. 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, — 

The  lightning  and  the  gale ! 

Oliver  Vi   lioiJtJ» 


11*7.     THE  PILGRIMS. 

How  slow  yon  tiny  vessel  ploughs  the  main ! 
Amid  the  heavy  billows  now  she  seems 
A  toiling  atom — then  from  wave  to  wave 
Leaps  madly,  by  the  tempest  lashed — or  reels. 
Half  wrecked,  through  gulfs  profound. 

Moons  wax  and  wuite, 
But  still  that  lonely  traveller  treads  the  deep. 
I  see  an  ice-bound  coast,  towards  which  she  steers 
With  such  a  tardy  movement,  that  it  seems 
Stern  winter's  hand  hath  turned  her  keel  to  stone. 
And  sealed  his  victory  on  her  slippery  shrouds. 
They  land  ! — they  land ! — not  like  the  Genoese, 
With  glittering  sword  and  gaudy  train,  and  eye 
Kindling  with  golden  ftmcies.     Forth  they  come 
From  their  long  prison — hardy  forms,  that  brave 
The  world's  unkindness — men  of  hoary  hair. 
And  virgins  of  firm  heart,  and  matrons  grave. 
Who  hush  the  wailing  infant  with  a  glance. 
Bleak  Nature's  desolation  wraps  them  round. 
Eternal  forests,  and  unyielding  earth, 
And  savage  men,  who  through  the  thickets  peer 
With  vengeful  arrow.     What  could  lure  their  steps 
To  this  drear  desert  ?     Ask  of  him  who  left 
His  father's  home  to  roam  through  Haran's  wilds, 
Distrusting  not  the  Guide  who  called  him  forth. 


MES.  L.  H.  SIGOtJKNEY. — GEOiiGE  D.  PKENTICE.         387 

Nor  doubting,  though  a  stranger,  that  his-  seed 
Should  be  as  ocean's  sands. 

And  can  ye  deem  it  strange 
That  from  their  planting  such  a  branch  should  bloom 
As  nations  envy  ?     Would  a  germ,  embalmed 
With  prayer's  pure  tear-drops,  strike  no  deeper  root  ■ 
Than  that  which  mad  ambition's  hand  doth  strew 
Upon  the  winds,  to  reap  the  winds  again  ? 
Hid  by  its  veil  of  waters  from  the  hand 
Of  greedy  Europe,  their  bold  vine  spread  forth 
In  giant  strength. 

Its  early  clusters,  crushed 
In  England's  wine-press,  gave  the  tyrant  host 

A  draught  of  deadly  wine. Oh,  ye  who  boast 

In  your  free  veins  the  blood  of  sires  like  these. 
Lose  not  their  lineaments  !     Should  Mammon  cling 
Too  close  around  your  heart,  or  wealth  beget 
That  bloated  luxury  which  eats  the  core 
From  manly  virtue,  or  the  tempting  world 
Make  famt  the  Christian  purpose  in  your  soul. 
Turn  ye  to  Plymouth's  beach — and  on  that  rock 
Kneel  in  their  foot-prints,  and  renew  the  vow 
They  breathed  to  God.  j^^^^  ^  H.  Siqouenb. 


118.     TIME. 


Remorseless  Time ! 
Fierce  spirit  of  the  glass  and  scythe  ! — What  power 
Can  stay  him  in  his  silent  course,  or  melt 
His  iron  heart  to  pity  ?  On,  still  on. 
He  presses,  and  forever.     The  proud  bird. 
The  condor  of  the  Andes,  that  can  soar 
Through  heaven's  unfathomable  depths,  or  brave 
The  fury  of  the  northern  hurricane. 
And  bathe  his  plumage  in  the  thunder's  home, 
Furls  his  broad  wings  at  nightfall,  and  sinks  down 
To  rest  upon  his  mountain  crag, — but  Time 
Knows  not  the  weight  of  sleep  or  weariness, 
And  night's  deep  darkness  has  no  chain  to  bind 
His  inishing  pinions.     Revolutions  sweep 
O'er  earth,  like  troubled  visions  o'er  the  breast 


388  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY.  « 

Of  dreaming  sorrow ;  cities  rise  and  sink 
Like  bubbles  on  the  water ;  fiery  isles 
Spring  blazing  from  the  ocean,  and  go  back 
'To  their  mysterious  caverns ;  mountains  rear 
To  heaven  their  bald  and  blackened  cliffs,  and  bow 
.  Their  tall  heads  to  the  plain ;  new  empires  rise. 
Gathering  the  strength  of  hoary  centuries, 
And  rush  down  like  the  Alpine  avalanche. 
Startling  the  nations  ;  and  the  very  stars. 
Yon  bright  and  burning  blazonry  of  God, 
Glitter  a  while  in  their  eternal  depths, 
And,  like  the  Pleiad,  lovehest  of  their  train, 
Shoot  from  their  glorious  spheres,  and  pass  away 
To  darkle  in  the  trackless  void ;  yet.  Time, 
Time,  the  tomb-builder,  holds  his  fierce  career, 
Dark,  stern,  all  pitiless,  and  pauses  not. 
Amid  the  mighty  wrecks  that  strew  his  path, 
To  sit  and  muse,  like  other  conquerors. 
Upon  the  fearful  ruin  he  has  wrought. 

George  D.  PEENnct 


119.     THE  YANKEE  SHIPS. 

Our  Yankee  ships !  in  fleet  career. 

They  linger  not  behind. 
Where  gallant  sails  from  other  lands 

Court  favoring  tide  and  wind. 
With  banners  on  the  breeze,  they  leap 

As  gayly  o'er  the  foam 
As  stately  barks  from  prouder  seas, 

That  long  have  learned  to  roam. 

The  Indian  wave,  with  luring  smiles, 

Swept  round  them  bright  to-day; 
And  havens  of  Atlantic  isles 

Are  opening  on  their  way ; 
Ere  yet  these  evening  shadows  close. 

Or  this  frail  song  is  o'er. 
Full  many  a  straining  mast  will  rise 

To  greet  a  foreign  shore. 

High  up  the  lashing  northern  deep. 
Where  glimmering  watch-lights  beam. 


J.  T.  FIELDS. — rAEK  BENJAMm. 

Away  in  beauty  where  the  stars 

In  tropic  brightness  gleam, 
Where'er  the  sea-bird  wets  h«r  beak, 

Or  blows  the  stormy  gale  ; 
On  to  the  water's  furthest  verge 

Our  ships  majestic  sail. 

They  dip  their  keels  in  every  stream 

That  swells  beneath  the  sky ; 
And  where  old  ocean's  billows  roll 

Their  lofty  pennants  fly : 
They  furl  their  sheets  in  threatening  clouds 

That  float  across  the  main. 
To  Hnk  with  love  earth's  distant  bays, 

In  many  a  golden  chain.  j^  rj,^  Fields. 


m 


120.     PRESS  ON. 


Press  on !   surmount  the  rocky  steeps, 

CUmb  boldly  o'er  the  torrent's  arch  : 
He  fails  alone  who  feebly  creeps, 

He  wins  who  dares  the  hero's  march. 
Be  thou  a  hero  !  let  thy  might 

Tramp  on  eternal  snows  its  way. 
And,  through  the  ebon  walls  of  night. 

Hew  down  a  passage  unto  day. 

Press  on !  if  once  and  twice  thy  feet 

Slip  back  and  stumble,  harder  try  ; 
From  him  who  never  dreads  to  meet 

Danger  and  death,  they're  sure  to  fly. 
To  coward  ranks  the  bullet  speeds. 

While  on  their  breasts  who  never  quail 
Gleams,  guardian  of  chivalric  deeds. 

Bright  courage,  like  a  coat  of  mail. 

Press  on !  if  Fortune  play  thee  false 
To-day,  to-morrow  she'll  be  true  ; 

Whom  now  she  sinks,  she  now  exalts, 
Taking  old  gifts  and  granting  new. 


390  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

The  wisdom  of  the  present  hour 
Makes  up  for  foUies  past  and  gone  : 

To  weakness  strength  succeeds,  and  power 
From  frailty  springs — press  on  !  press  on  1 

Therefore,  press  on  !  and  reach  the  goal,  , 

And  gain  the  prize,  and  wear  the  crown : 
Faint  not !  for  to  the  steadfast  soul 

Come  wealth,  and  honor,  and  renown. 
•  To  thine  own  self  be  true,  and  keep 

Thy  mind  from  sloth,  thy  heart  from  soil ; 
Press  on !  and  thou  shalt  surely  reap 

A  heavenly  harvest  for  thy  toil !       p^^  Benjamw. 


121.     THE    MARINERS. 

How  cheery  are  the  mariners. 

Those  lovers  of  the  sea ! 
Their  hearts  are  like  its  yesty  waves. 

As  bounding  and  as  free. 
They  whistle  wlien  the  storm-bird  wheels 

In  circles  round  the  mast ; 
And  sing  when,  deep  in  foam,  the  ship 

Ploughs  onward  to  the  blast. 

What  care  the  mariners  for  gales  ? 

There's  music  in  their  roar. 
When  wide  the  berth  along  the  lee. 

And  leagues  of  room  before. 
Let  billows  toss  to  mountain  heights. 

Or  sink  to  chasms  low  ; 
The  vessel  stout  will  ride  it  out. 

Nor  reel  beneath  the  blow. 

With  streamers  down  and  canvas  furled. 

The  gallant  hull  will  float 
(Securely  as  on  inland  lake 

A  silken-tasselled  boat ; 
And  sound  asleep  some  mariners, 

And  some  with  watchful  eyes. 
Will  fearless  be  of  dangers  dark. 

That  roll  along  the  skies. 


PAUK  BENJAMIN. — ANONYMOUS.  391 

God  keep  these  cheery  mariners ! 

And  temper  all  the  gales. 
That  sweep  agamst  the  rocky  coast, 

To  their  storm-shattered  sails ; 
And  men  on  shore  will  bless  the  ship 

That  could  so  guided  be. 
Safe  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 

To  brave  the  mighty  sea  !  p^^  Benjamin. 


122.     WHAT  THE  END  SHALL  BE. 

When  another  life  is  added 

To  the  heaving  turbid  mass ; 
When  another  breath  of  being 

Stains  creation's  tarnished  glass ; 
When  the  first  cry,  weak  and  piteous, 

Heralds  long- enduring  pain. 
And  a  soul  from  non-existence 

Springs,  that  ne'er  can  die  again ; 
When  the  mother's  passionate  welcome 

Sorrow-like  bursts  forth  in  tears. 
And  the  sire's  self-gratulation 

Prophecies  of  future  years — 

It  is  well  we  cannot  sce- 
What  the  end  shall  be. 

Wheit  across  the  infant  features 

Trembles  the  faint  dawn  of  mind  ; 
When  the  heart  looks  from  the  windows 

Of  the  eyes  that  were  so  blind ; 
When  the  incoherent  murmurs 

Syllable  each  swaddled  thought. 
To  the  fond  ear  of  affection 

With  a  boundless  promise  fraught, 
Kindhng  great  hopes  for  to-morrow, 

From  that  dull  uncertain  ray. 
As  by  glimmering  of  the  twilight 

Is  foreshown  the  perfect  day — 

It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be. 


3&2  SELECTIONS  m  POETKY. 

When  the  boy  upon  the  threshold 

Of  his  all-comprising  home, 
Parts  aside  the  arm  maternal 

That  unlocks  him  ere  he  roam ; 
When  the  canvas  of  his  vessel 

Flutters  to  the  favoring  gales. 
Years  of  solitary  exile 

Hid  behind  its  sunny  sails ; 
When  his  pulses  beat  with  ardor. 

And  his  sinews  stretch  for  toil. 
And  a  hundred  bold  emprises 

Lure  him  to  that  eastern  soil — 

It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be. 

Whatsoever  is  beginning 

That  is  wrought  by  human  skill. 
Every  daring  emanation 

Of  the  mind's  ambitious  will ; 
Every  first  impulse  of  passion. 

Gush  of  love,  or  twinge  of  hate ; 
Every  launch  upon  the  waters. 

Wide  horizoned  by  our  fate ; 
Every  venture  in  the  chances 

Of  life's  sad,  oft  desperate,  game. 
Whatsoever  be  our  motive. 

Whatsoever  be  our  aim — 

It  is  well  we  cannot  see 
What  the  end  shall  be. 

Anontmousw 


123. 

Oh  !  give  me  sweet  rest,  from  ambition's  wild  dream. 

From  a  world  that's  all  heartless  and  vain  ; 
Give  me  rest  from  the  tempests  that  rage  o'er  life's  streatn- 

From  temptation,  from  sorrow,  and  pain  ! 
Oh !  if  mine  were  the  power,  undaunted  by  fear, 

I'd  unroll  the  great  volume  of  fate. 
And  there  find  a  reprieve  to  my  wanderings  here. 

In  this  dark  and  inconstant  estate. 

Is  there  rest  far  away  on  the  ocean's  blue  wave. 
O'er  the  path  of  tlie  wide-rolling  deep, 


EDWAED  C.  ISIAESHALL.  393 

Where  the  white- crested  billows  unceasingly  lave. 
And  the  winds  their  hoarse  revellings  keep  ? 

I'll  plunge  in  the  surge,  and  I'll  breast  the  wild  foam — 
I'll  brave,  in  the  storm,  the  cloud-rack ; 

No  voice  of  fond  love  shall  then  whisper  of  home, 
No  larum  shall  frighten  me  back. 

Is  it  rest,  all  alone  on  the  bosom  of  earth, 

'JSTeath  the  deep  and  blue  vault  of  the  sky. 
To  awake  the  sweet  musings  of  heavenly  birth. 

And  feel  that  our  Father  is  nigh  ? 
I'll  away  to  the  mount — contemplation's  own  height — 

And,  alone  in  the  realms  of  the  air. 
My  freed  spirit  I'll  lave  in  those  floods  of  pure  light, 

And  my  life  shall  be  aye  a  long  prayer. 

No  true  rest  shall  there  be,  the  Almighty  has  said. 

In  the  days  of  man's  pilgrimage  here  ; 
For,  by  striving  still  onward  and  upward,  he's  led 

To  the  prize  of  his  earthly  career. 
But  the  bliss  of  sweet  rest  shall  return  once  again. 

In  the  mansions  on  high  of  the  blest : 
The  wicked  shall  cease  aye  from  troubling  him  then, 

And  the  weary  shall  win  a  long  rest. 

Edward  C.  Maeshaix. 


124.      ANOTHER  LIFE. 

A  BRUISED  sea- weed  on  the  strand. 

Vile  and  worthless  lay. 
Tossed  by  the  surges  on  the  land. 

Sport  of  the  angry  spray. 

Such  is  man  on  the  beach  of  life — 

Son  of  toil  and  care, 
Tossed  on  the  sea  of  angry  strife, 

Of  pain  and  sorrow  heir. 

The  bruised  sea-weed  wastes  away ; 

Its  atoms  on  the  breezes  ride  ; 
They  are  wafted  far  on  a  sunny  day. 

To  a  smiling  mountain  side. 
17^- 


394  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

They  mingle  with  the  teeming  earth, 
Where  fragrant  wild-flowers  bloom, 

And  a  violet  springs  to  joyous  birth, 
And  flings  a  sweet  perfume. 

Thus  man  shall  know  another  life, 

Not  shrouded  o'er  with  gloom. 
Where  the  soul's  sweet  bliss  shall  lull  her  strife. 

As  the  violet's  sweet  perfume. 

And  a  seraph  there  in  robes  of  white. 
He  shall  bask  in  the  Eternal's  ray. 

And  faintly  reflect  his  holy  light 

In  realms  of  endless  day.         j,^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^ 


125.      THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  NUNDOWAGAS,  OR   SENECA    INDIANS, 
FROM  SENECA  LAKE. 

In  the  gloom  of  the  wild,  by  the  smooth  silver  lake, 
Lo !  the  red  men  from  sweet,  silent  slumbers  awake. 
What  panic  enshrouds  the  bronze  features  with  fear. 
Which  nor  sorrow  or  torment  has  soiled  with  a  tear  ? 
Why  gather  their  trophies  in  phrensy,  to  haste. 
With  their  loved  ones  bewailing,  to  flee  o'er  the  waste  ? 
Can  the  Indian  forget  his  old  braves'  council-fires. 
The  proud  seat  of  his  nation,  the  graves  of  his  sires  ? 

Ah  !  yonder  the  pale  faces,  hastening  in  wrath, 
And  thirsting  for  vengeance,  are  scenting  their  path ; 
No  fleeter  the  hounds  for  the  startled  deer  run, 
Nor  more  joyously  course  the  swift  steeds  of  the  sun. 
As  the  leaves  of  the  forest,  or  sands  of  the  tide. 
Unnumbered  they  loom  from  the  eastern  hill  side  ; 
jphey  wind  through  the  thicket,  approach  the  morass, 
And  soon  to  the  home  of  the  red  men  will  pass. 

Swift  flee  the  dusk  forms  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 

Nor  leave  at  their  castle  one  soul  of  their  kind. 

Save  the  chief,  Guyanguahta,  of  locks  hoary  white. 

Who  would  die  at  his  birth-place,  and  scorned  at  their  flight. 

The  breezes  were  flaunting  his  silvered  hair. 

His  brawny  arms  tossed  in  wild  rage  through  the  air, 

And  proud  was  the  taimting  and  bitter  the  sneer. 

His  aged  lips  uttered  in  tones  shrill  and  clear  : 


EDWAED  C.  MAESIIALL.  395 

"  Away,  craven-hearted,  away ! 

I  bid  ye  no  longer  to  stay. 

Away,  and  forget  ye  the  fires 

Of  your  feraves,  the  great  deeds  of  your  sires. 

The  proud  Nundowagas  of  old. 

The  fame  of  whose  prowess  so  bold. 

By  Six-Nations  exultingly  sung. 

To  the  far  Montezumas  has  rung. 

Away  !  and  your  sachem  will  sleep. 

In  the  Good  Spirit's  home  of  the  deep, 

With  the  sprites  of  the  emerald  caves, 

Far  down  *neath  the  beautiful  waves ; 

And  his  kinsmen's  dishonor  and  flight, 

Their  blue  covering  shall  shroud  from  his  sight." 

He  finished,  and  bowed  in  deep  sorrow  his  head. 
Then  straight  to  the  lake's  pebbly  margin  he  sped  : 
He  loosed  from  its  moorings  his  bounding  canoe, 
And  silently  stole  to  the  lake's  deepest  blue  ; 
While  the  watery  elves  the  frail  bark  onward  bore, 
And  merrily  danced  at  the  plash  of  his  oar. 
And  laughingly  sang  him  a  fairy-like  song, 
As  their  loved -Indian  sachem  they  wafted  along. 

Ah !  boldly  he  paddled,  and  free  was  the  sweep 
Of  his  soft-gliding  bark  to  the  midst  of  the  deep. 
And  the  soul  of  a  brave  proudly  rushing  to  death. 
Bade  defiance  in  mutters  deep  throbbing  his  breast. 
Afar  to  the  fathomless*  waiters  he  flew. 
Then  stayed  the  swift  flight  of  his  fleeting  canoe  ; 
To  the  Manito  uttered  a  heart-spoken  prayer, 
And  plunged — his  bent  form  deftly  cleaving  the  air. 

The  old  sachem  has  gone  to  his  watery  bed, 
While  far  from  their  home  his  dark  kinsmen  have  fled. 
And  sweetly  he  sleeps  'neath  the  beautiful  wave. 
By  the  Good  Spirit  soothed  in  his  moss-cladden  grave. 
And  oft  on  the  lake,  like  a  phantom  bark,  will  float, 
In  the  dim  mist  of  evening,  his  light  bounding  boat ; 
And  the  elves  break  the  ice  with  the  wild  dashing  foam, 
And  a  requiem  sigh  in  the  wintiy  wind's  moan. 

Edward  C.  IVIarshall. 


*  Seneca  Lake  is  supposed  to  be  fathomless,  aucl  its  ludiau  name,  Canar 
desaga,  signifies  "  the  Deautiful  water." 


SELECnONS  IN  POETKT. 


126.  IRON. 

As,  in  lonely  thought,  I  pondered 

On  the  marvellous  things  of  earth. 
And,  in  fancy's  dreaming,  wondered 

At  their  beauty,  power,  and  worth. 
Came,  like  words  of  prayer,  the  feeling— 

Oh !  that  God  would  make  me  know. 
Through  the  spirit's  clear  revealing, 

What,  of  all  his  works  below. 
Is  to  man  a  boon  the  greatest. 

Brightening  on  from  age  to  age. 
Serving  truest,  earliest,  latest. 

Through  the  world's  long  pilgrimage. 

Soon  vast  mountains  rose  before  me. 

Shaggy,  desolate,  and  lone, 
Their  scarred  heads  were  threatening  o'er  em. 

Their  dark  shadows  round  me  thrown  ; 
Then  a  voice,  from  out  the  mountains. 

As  an  earthquake,  shook  the  ground. 
And,  like  frightened  fawns,  the  fountains 

Leaping,  fled  before  the  sound  ; 
And  the  Anak  oaks  bowed  lowly. 

Quivering,  aspen-like,  with  fear — 
While  the  deep  response  came  slowly. 

Or  it  must  have  crushed  mine  ear. 

'*  Iron !  Iron  !  Iron  !" — crashing. 

Like  the  battle-axe  and  shield. 
Or  the  sword  on  helmet  clashing. 

Through  a  bloody  battle-field  : 
*'  Iron  !  Iron  !  Iron  !" — rolling. 

Like  the  far-oflf  cannon's  boom. 
Or  the  death-knell,  slowly  tolling. 

Through  a  dungeon's  chamel  gloom : 
"Iron  !  Iron  !  Iron  '"—swinging, 

Like  the  summer  winds  at  play. 
Or  as  bells  of  Time  were  ringing 

In  the  blest  millennial  day. 

Then  the  clouds  of  ancient  fable 
Cleared  away  before  mine  eyes ; 


MES.  S.  J.  HALE. — W.  T.  BACON.  397 

Truth  could  tread  a  footing  stable 

O'er  the  gulf  of  mysteries. 
Words,  the  prophet  bards  had  uttered. 

Signs,  the  oracle  foretold. 
Spells,  the  weird-like  Sibyl  muttered. 

Through  the  twilight  day's  of  old. 
Rightly  read,  beneath  the  splendor. 

Shining  now  on  history's  page. 
All  their  faithful  witness  render — 

All  portend  a  better  age. 

Rugged  strength  and  radiant  beauty— 

These  were  one  in  nature's  plan ; 
Humble  toil  and  heavenward  duty^ — 

These  will  form  the  perfect  man ! 
Darkly  was  this  doctrine  taught  us 

By  the  gods  of  heathendom ; 
But  the  hving  light  was  brought  us 

When  the  gospel  morn  had  come ; 
How  the  glorious  change,  expected, 

Could  be  wrought,  was  then  made  free  ; 
Of  the  earthly,  when  perfected. 

Rugged  Iron  forms  the  key ! 

While  our  faith  in  good  grows  stronger, 

Means  of  greater  good  increase  ; 
Iron,  slave  of  war  no  longer. 

Leads  the  onward  march  of  peace  ; 
Still  new  modes  of  service  finding, 

Ocean,  earth,  and  air  it  moves. 
And  the  distant  nations  binding, 

Like  the  kindred  tie  it  proves  ; 
With  its  Atlas-shoulder,  sharing 

Loads  of  human  toil  and  care ; 
On  its  wing  of  lightning  bearing 

Thought's  swift  mission  through  the  air ! 

Mrs.  S.  J.  Halk. 


127.     ROME. 


The  Coliseum's  lonely  walls  still  tower. 

In  ail  their  massy  strength,  to  greet  the  skies  ; 


398  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 

The  Caesars'  hundred  palaces  of  power 

In  undecayed  magnificence  still  rise  ; 

And  towers,  and  tombs,  and  temples  desolate. 

Tell  of  the  solemn  grandeur  of  her  state. 

We  walk  amid  those  temples  tottering  ; 

Each  foot-fall  starts  the  young  owl  from  her  rest ; 

Where  mantling  vines  round  moldering  arches  cling, 

To  furnish  forth  the  bat  her  dusky  nest ; 

And  every  breeze  that  through  the  ruin  strays. 

Seems  hke  the  ghost  of  Rome's  departed  days. 

Romans  and  Roman  matrons  wandered  here ; 
Here  blushed  the  cheek  at  its  sweet  beauty  spoken  * 
Trembled  the  delicate  hand,  and  sparkled  clear 
The  bright  drop  in  the  eye,  at  love's  fond  token ; 
And  children's  voices  woke  these  streets  all  day. 
And  echoed  the  light  laugh  of  maidens  gay. 

Tempest  and  terror,  war,  and  flood,  and  fire, 
.  And  cruelty,  and  guilt,  and  avarice. 
These  have  been  here,  and  wreaked  their  vengeance  dire, 
On  pillared  fane,  and  smouldering  precipice  ; 
Yet  sits  she  still  amid  the  solemn  scene. 
Queen  of  the  hills,  in  majesty  a  queen. 

Rome's  greatness  and  Rome's  grandeur  may  not  be 
The  greatness  and  the  grandeur  that  we  prize ; 
Yet,  though  her  soul  was  chained,  her  mind  was  free. 
And  power  was  there  which  men  cannot  despise  : 
She  lifted  her  proud  arm— each  flag  was  furled  ; 
And  at  her  haughty  beck,  bowed  down  the  world. 

And  with  her,  though  a  tyrant  in  her  mood. 

Was  genius,  learning,  talent  consecrate  ; 

And  though  on  land  and  sea  her  track  was  blood, 

Yet  intellectual  greatness  marked  her  state ; 

For  while  was  heard  the  trumpet's  deafening  clang, 

The  forum  thundered  with  the  loud  harangue. 

W.  T.  Bacon 


J.  EESKINE  DOW.  399 


128.     THE  LAST  REVOLUTIONARY. 

Oh  !  where  are  they,  those  iron  men 
Who  braved  the  battle's  storm  of  fire, 

When  war's  wild  halo  filled  the  glen. 
And  lit  each  humble  village  spire  ? 

When  hill  sent  back  the  sound  to  hill, 

And  might  was  right,  and  law  was  will  ? 

Oh !  where  are  they,  whose  manly  breasts 
Beat  back  the  pride  of  England's  might  ? 

Whose  stalwart  arm,  laid  low  the  crests 
Of  many  an  old  and  valiant  knight  ? 

When  evening  came  with  murderous  flame, 

And  liberty  was  but  a  name  ? 

I  sec  them  in  the  distance,  form 

Like  spectres  on  a  misty  shore ; 
Before  them  rolls  the  dreadful  storm. 

And  hills  send  forth  their  rills  of  gore  ; 
Around  them  death,  with  lightning  breath. 
Is  twining  an  immortal  wreath. 

They  conquer  !  God  of  glory,  thanks  ! 

They  conquer !  Freedom's  banner  waves 
Above  oppression's  broken  ranks, 

And  withers  o'er  her  children's  graves ; 
And  loud  and  long  the  pealing  song 
Of  jubilee  is  borne  along. 

'Tis  evening,  and  December's  sun 

Goes  swiftly  down  behind  the  wave ; 
And  there  I  see  a  gray -haired  one, 

A  special  courier  to  the  grave ; 
He  looks  around  on  vale  and  mound. 
Then  falls  upon  his  battle-ground. 

Beneath  him  rests  the  hallowed  earth, 
Now  changed  like  him,  and  still  and  cold ; 

The  blood  that  gave  young  freedom  birth 
No  longer  warms  the  warrior  old  ; 

He  waves  his  hand  with  stern  command, 

Then  dies,  the  last  of  glory's  band. 

J.  Erskine  Dow 


r 


4:00  SELECTIONS   IN   POETEY. 


129.    THE  SHIPWRECK. 

Hark  !  from  the  sullen  deep  a  fearful  sound, 
Which  dies  away  where  echo  ne'er  replies : — 
While  clouds  of  fiery  vapor  roll  around, 
And,  like  a  wintry  fog,  obscure  the  skies. 
The  ship 's  a  wreck ! — in  scattered  fragments  lies, 
A  smoking  ruin  on  the  combing  swell  I 
The  red  flues  have  collapsed,  and  havoc  flies 
In  volleyed  thunder ! — like  the  bolt  that  fell 
On  that  ill-fated  boat — the  lost,  the  mourned  Moselle ! 

A  moment  past,  and  the  proud  ship  was  gliding. 
Like  a  swift  dolphin,  through  the  yielding  seas, — 
A  moment  past,  and  Beauty,  coy,  confiding. 
Charming  as  love,  and  coiu:teous  still  to  please. 
Rung  her  light  bells  and  wrangled  with  the  breeze. 
Where  are  they  now  ? — the  lovely  and  the  brave, 
The  staid,  the  gay,  so  late  in  health  and  ease  ? — 
Some,  in  their  berths  below,  have  found  a  grave. 
Some  toss  upon  the  surge, — some  struggle  down  the  wave  I 

O  what  a  cry  of,  woe  burst  from  the  deep ! 
What  shriel^  of  terror  pierced  the  vaulted  sky ! 
What  icy  chills  around  each  heart  did  creep ! — 
What  black  despair  gleamed  from  each  straining  eye ! 
Some,  flayed  alive,  upon  the  waters  lie. 
And  writhe  and  groan  in  agony  of  pain  : — 
O  it  were  mercy  now  bestowed,  to  die. 
And  sink  unconscious  down  th'  unfathom'd  main, 
For  life  is  misery, — death  is  the  wretch's  gain ! 

Some  vainly  grapple  with  the  burning  wreck. 
That  slowly  settling,  tends  the  depths  below ; 
While  others,  maddened  in  life's  sudden  check. 
Blaspheme  their  God  !  and  the  last  hope  forego, 
Despairing  in  th'  extremity  of  woe  ! 
A  few  resigned  upon  the  waters  lie, 
And  gazing  upward  with  a  dying  throe, 
Await  their  dissolution, — not  a  sigh 
Disturbs  the  soul  whose  wing  is  quivering  for  the  sky. 

The  dying  boy  invokes  his  sinking  sire. 

The  struggling  sire  no  'foothold  may  recover, — 


EDWAED  A.  Mclaughlin-. — pollok.  401 

Husband  and  wife  in  either's  arms  expire, 
In  either's  arms,  the  maiden  and  her  lover ; — 
Strangers  and  friends  are  calling  to  each  other, 
Childhood  imploring  aid, — alas !  in  vain ! 
The  dashing  seas  each  cry  of  anguish  smother, 
Heaiis  cease  to  beat,  and  voices  to  complain, 
And  Death  sits  paramount, — triumphant  on  the  main  ! 

Silence  is  on  the  sea ! — save  the  dull  moan 
Of  the  dirge-chanting  -wind  and  hoarser  swell ; 
While  bends  night's  goddess  from  her  azure  zone, 
To  kiss  the  enamored  wave  that  owns  her  spell. 
For  these, — the  dead,  there  tolls  no  funeral  bell, 
Nor  hearse,  nor  pall,  nor  mourning  friends  appear : — 
Th'  affrighted  sea-bird  screams  their  passing  knell. 
Upon  whose  grave  no  flowers  the  Spring  shall  rear, 
But  sea-weed  floats  around  to  deck  their  watery  bier. 

Edward  A.  McLaughlix 


130.    GOLD. 


Gold  ! — many  hunted,  sweat,  and  bled  for  gold ; 

Waked  all  the  night,  and  labored  all  the  day ; — 

And  what  was  this  allurement,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

A  dust,  dug  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

Which,  being  cast  into  the  fire,  came  out 

A  shining  thing,  that  fools  admired  and  called 

A  god ;  and,  in  devout  and  humble  phght, 

Before  it  kneeled — the  greater  to  the  less ! 

And  on  its  altar  sacrificed  ease,  peace. 

Truth,  faith,  integrity — ^good  conscience,  friends, 

Love,  charity,  benevolence,  and  all 

The  sweet  and  tender  sympathies  of  life  ; 

And,  to  complete  the  horrid,  murderous  rite. 

And  signaHze  their  folly,  offered  up 

Their  souls,  and  an  eternity  of  bliss. 

To  gain  them — what  ? — an  hour  of  dreaming  joy- 

A  feverish  hour,  that  hasted  to  be  done. 

And  ended  in  the  bitterness  of  woe ! 

Pollok 


402  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


131.     THE  STORMING  OF  VERA  CRUZ. 

The  night  is  wild  and  bitter,  the  prairie  lies  in  snow ; 
And  hark  !  the  wolves  are  howling,  as  round  the  fort  they  go. 
Close  in  their  guarded  stable  the  horses  snort  with  fear : 
Pile  on  the  logs  still  higher,  we'll  give  the  night  to  cheer ! 

While  some  the  haunch  are  broiling,  and  others  spice  the  wine, 
And  some  deck  out  the  table  with  torches  of  the  pine. 
And  some  bring  in  the  red  game,  or  pastry  crisply  done, 
I'll  tell  the  story,  comrades,  how  Vera  Cruz  was  won ! 

You  should  have  seen  our  transports,  a  hundred  in  a  row : 
Like  stately  swans  they  floated,  majestical  and  slow. 
Two  days  we  headed  southward,  out  on  the  boundless  sea. 
Two  days  gray  Orizaba  towered  upon  our  lea. 
At  last  the  distant  city  flashed  on  the  sea-board  dim  ; 
And  crouched  before  it,  watching,  the  lion- castle  grim. 

Close  by  the  beach  we  anchored  :  with  a  mighty  shout 

The  boats  were  launched,  the  oars  were  down,  and  the  long  line 

shot  out 
A  moment  in  the  breakers  : — God  help  the  gallant  band ! 
The  creamy  foam  is  o'er  them  ! — huzza !  they  gain  the  land  ! 
The  starry  flag  is  planted,  a  beacon  blazing  wide ! 
A  hundred  guns  exulted ;  ten  thousand  men  replied. 

That  night  we  slept  untented,  and  often  waked  to  hear 

The  jackal  snarling  round  us,  the  foeman  scouting  near. 

With  day  the  battle  opened :  a  dread  incessant  roar 

From  fleet,  and  fort,  and  castle,  billowed  o'er  the  sea  and  shore  ; 

And  while  we  dug  the  trenches,  still  blew  the  fiery  gale, 

And  still  above,  about  us,  pattered  the  iron  hail. 

Sudden  a  trumpet  sounded  :  we  looked,  and  o'er  the  crest 
Galloped  a  thousand  lancers,  their  lances  laid  in  rest. 
"  Now  at  them !"  cried  our  leader :  we  mounted  quick  and  bold. 
"  One  charge  upon  the  cravens  !"  and  in  the  dust  they  rolled. 
"  Again !"  and  riding  down  them,  we  crushed  the  rabble  rout. 
As  with  his  hounds  the  hunter  the  harvest  tramples  out. 

The  norther  next  assailed  us  :  the  sand  in  clouds  arose. 
As  when  across  the  desert  the  deadly  Simoom  blows ; 
The  tents  went  down  like  rushes  when  tempests  hurtle  by ; 
The  whizzing  bombs  incessant  hissed  viewless  through  the  sky ; 


ANONYMOUS.  403 

And  the  great  sun  in  anger  broke  redly  through  the  haze, 
Like  some  fierce  god  of  battle,  his  armor  all  a-blaze ! 

Till  night  the  conflict  deepened ;  and  when  the  darkness  fell. 
Death  fiercer  rode  the  whirlwind  of  raging  shot  and  shell. 
From  trench  and   fleet  we   thundered  :    the  leaguered  walls 

replied ; 
The  stout  old  castle  answered,  flaming  on  every  side  ; 
The  hum  of  bombs  enormous  filled  all  the  hollow  air, 
And  the  sky  blazed  with  comets  shaking  their  fiery  hair. 

We  heard  the  plunge  of  round-shot,  embrasures  crumbling  down. 

The  shrieks  and  wails  of  women  from  out  the  fated  town. 

The  bells  in  terror  ringing,  the  crash  of  falling  domes  : 

We  saw  the  red  fire  leaping  high  over  happy  homes ; 

It  played  on  roof  and  steeple,  it  flashed  from  ocean's  swell. 

Till  sea  and  town  shone  lurid  like  the  red  mouth  of  hell ! 

Four  days  the  battle  lasted  ;  four  hapless  nights  and  days  : 
Days  black  with  smoke  of  Tophet,  nights  lit  with  sulphurous 

blaze. 
The  fifth  beheld  a  ruin.     Where  once  had  stood  the  town. 
Were  wall,  and  church,  and  dwelling,  in  chaos  tumbled  down. 
The  foe  implored  our  mercy,  and  ere  the  set  of  sun. 
Our  flag  was  on  the  ramparts.     Thus  Vera  Cruz  was  won. 

Anonymous. 


132.     AMBITION,  FALSE  AND  TRUE. 

I  WOULD  not  wear  the  warrior's  wreath, 
I  would  not  court  his  crown  ; 

For  love  and  virtue  sink  beneath 
His  dark  and  vengeful  frown. 

I  would  not  seek  my  fame  to  build 

On  glory's  dizzy  height ; — 
Her  temple  is  with  orphans  filled  ; 

Blood  soils  her  sceptre  bright. 

I  would  not  wear  the  diadem. 

By  folly  prized  so  dear ; 
For  want  and  woe  have  bought  each  gem. 

And  every  pearl's  a  tear. 


404:  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKY. 

I  would  not  heap  the  gt>lden  chest. 

That  sordid  spirits  crave ; 
For  every  grain  (by  penury  cursed) 

Is  gathered  from  the  grave. 

No ;  let  my  wreath  unsullied  be. 

My  fame  be  virtuous  youth ; 
My  wealth  be  kindness,  charity ; 

My  diadem  be  truth  !  Anonymous. 


133.     THE  OAKEN  BUCKET. 

How  dear  to  my  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  childhood. 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wild-wood. 

And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew ; 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  that  stood  by  it, 

The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it, 

And  e'en  the  rude  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 
The  old  oaken  bucket — the  iron-bound  bucket — 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure — 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure. 

The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing. 

And  quick  to  the  white  pebbled  bottom  it  fell ! 
Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing. 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well. 
The  old  oaken  bucket — tlie  iron-bound  bucket — 
The  moss-covered  bucket  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it. 
When,  poised  on  the  curb,  it  inclined  to  my  lips ! 

Not  a  full,  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it. 
Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 

And  now,  far  removed  from  that  loved  situation. 
The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell. 


S.  WOODWOETn. — ^JONES.  405 

As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well. 
The  old  oaken  bucket — the  iron-bound  bucket — 
The  moss-covered  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well. 

S.  WOODWOETH. 


134.     THE  GLADIATOR. 

They  led  a  lion  from  his  den, 

The  lord  of  Afric's  sun-scorched  plain ; 

And  there  he  stood,  stern  foe  of  men. 

And  shook  his  flowing  mane. 

There's  not  of  all  Rome's  heroes,  ten 

That  dare  abide  this  game. 

His  bright  eye  naught  of  lightning  lacked ; 

His  voice  was  hke  the  cataract. 

They  brought  a  dark-haired  man  along. 
Whose  limbs  with  gyves  of  brass  were  bound ; 
Youthful  he  seemed,  and  bold  and  strong, 
And  yet  unscathed  of  wound. 
Blithely  he  stepped  among  the  throng, 
And  careless  threw  around 
A  dark  eye,  such  as  courts  the  path 
Of  him  who  braves  a  Dacian's  wrath. 

Then  shouted  the  plebeian  crowd, — 
Rung  the  glad  galleries  with  the  sound ; 
And  from  the  throne  there  spake  aloud 
A  voice, — "  Be  the  bold  man  unbound ! 
And  by  Rome's  sceptre  yet  unbowed. 
By  Rome  earth's  monarch  crowned, 
Who  dares  the  bold,  the  unequal  strife. 
Though  doomed  to  death,  shall  save  his  life." 

Joy  was  upon  that  dark  man's  face ; 

And  thus,  with  laughing  eye,  spake  he  ; 

"  Loose  ye  the  lord  of  Zaara's  waste. 

And  let  my  arms  be  free  : 

*  He  has  a  martial  heart,'  thou  say  est ; — 

But  oh  !  who  will  not  be 

A  hero,  when  he  fights  for  life. 

For  home  and  country,  babes  and  wife !" 


4:06  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

And  he  has  bared  his  shining  blade, 
And  springs  he  on  the  shaggy  foe ; 
Dreadful  the  strife,  but  briefly  played  ;— 
The  desert-king  lies  low ; 
His  long  and  loud  death-howl  is  made ; 
And  there  must  end  the  show. 
And  when  the  multitude  were  calm, 
The  favorite  freed-man  took  the  palm. 

"  Kneel  down,  Rome's  emperor  beside  !" 

He  knelt,  that  dark  man ; — o'er  his  brow 

Was  thrown  a  wreath  in  crimson  died ; 

And  fair  words  gild  it  now  : 

"  Thou  art  the  bravest  youth  that  ever  tried 

To  lay  a  lion  low  ; 

And  from  our  presence  forth  thou  go'st 

To  lead  the  Dacians  of  our  host." 

Then  flushed  his  cheek,  but  not  with  pride. 
And  grieved  and  gloomily  spake  he : 
"  My  cabin  stands  where  blithely  glide 
Proud  Danube's  waters  to  the  sea : 
I  have  a  young  and  blooming  bride. 
And  I  have  children  three : — 
No  Roman  wealth  or  rank  can  give 
Such  joy  as  in  their  arms  to  hve. 

"  My  wife  sits  at  the  cabin  door. 

With  throbbing  heart  and  swollen  eyes  ;— 

While  tears  her  cheek  are  coursing  o'er. 

She  speaks  of  sundered  ties. 

She  bids  my  tender  babes  deplore 

The  death  their  father  dies  ; 

She  teJ.s  these  jewels  of  my  home, 

I  bleed  to  please  the  rout  of  Rome. 

"  I  cannot  let  those  cherubs  stray 

Without  their  sire's  protecting  care  ; 

And  I  would  chase  the  griefs  away 

Which  cloud  my  wedded  fair." 

The  monarch  spoke ;  the  guards  obey ; 

And  gates  unclosed  are  : 

He's  gone ! — No  golden  bribes  divide 

The  Dacian  from  his  babes  and  bride. 

JONE? 


W.  IIOWITT.  4:07 


135.     THE  KAISER. 

The  Kaiser's*  hand  from  all  his  foes 
Had  won  him  glory  and  repose : 
Richly  through  his  rejoicing  land 
Were  felt  the  blessings  of  his  hand ; 
And  when  at  eve  he  sought  his  rest, 
A  myriad  hearts  his  slumbers  blessed. 

In  midnight's  hush  a  tempest  broke ; — 
Throughout  his  realm  its  myriads  woke ; 
And  by  the  lightning's  rapid  flash, 
And  'mid  the  thunder's  bellowing  crash, 
In  faith  to  heaven  their  prayers  they  spake, 
For  Christ's  and  for  the  Kaiser's  sake. 

But  with  a  start,  and  with  a  pang, 
Up  from  his  couch  the  Kaiser  sprang ; 
What !  feareth  he  who  never  feared 
When  bloody  deaths  through  hosts  careered  ? 
What !  can  the  tempest's  passing  sound 
That  heart  of  battles  thus  confound  ? 

No  !  no  !  but  in  its  deepest  deep  j 

It  wakes  a  cry  no  more  to  sleep ; 
And  there  !  and  there !  in  wrath  begin 
The  pangs — the  power  of  secret  sin. 
A  blow  is  dealt, — a  strife  is  stirred, — 
Without,  the  storm  may  pass  unheard ! 

And,  therefore,  from  his  palace  door 
He  passed  into  the  loud  uproar  ; 
In  wildest  wind,  and  blackest  night. 
He  passed  away  in  sudden  flight : 
*Mid  lightning,  rain,  and  thunder's  roll. 
He  went, — a  fire  within  his  soul. 

The  Kaiser  went  in  storm  and  night, 
But  ne'er  returned  in  peace  and  light; 
Astonished  thousands  asked  his  lot. 
Love  sought  and  sought,  but  found  him  not ; 
But  conscience  did  what  conscience  would, 
And  sealed  its  errand — blood  for  blood  ! 

W.  HoWlTXi 
*  Henry  V.,  of  Germany. 


403  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


136.      ALBUQUERQUE. 


A  STORM  was  on  the  deep  ; 

And  lightning,  in  its  wrath, 
Called  the  darkness  from  its  sleep. 

In  the  fierce  tornado's  path : 
The  ocean  waves  went  up  among 

The  thunder-spirit's  choir. 
Recoiling  as  the  death-note  rung 

From  their  canopy  of  fire. 

"  Awake  !  awake  ! — behold 

Death  throned  among  the  clouds  ! 
Tlie  sands  of  life  are  told — 

The  waves  must  be  our  shrouds." 
Thus  spake  the  chief,  while,  clinging  round. 

The  shrieking  concourse  stood. 
Waiting  the  sulphurous  bolt  to  sound 

Their  requiem  for  the  flood. 

Stern  Albuquerque  that  hour 

Showed  horror  on  his  brow, 
While  conscience,  in  her  power. 

Made  his  haughty  heart  to  bow ; 
Hot  lightning  blackened  many  a  corse. 

And  cleft  his  bending  mast. 
While  bounding  like  a  reinless  horse. 

On  went  the  proud  ship  fast. 

Pressed  down  with  guilty  fear. 

He  knew  his  turn  might  be — 
Another  bolt  fell  near. 

And  burst  upon  the  sea ; — 
When  from  a  mother's  bosom  blest, 

He  snatched  her  infant  care. 
And  clasping  it  before  his  breast. 

Defied  the  lightning's  glare. 

"  Now  strike ! — I  stand  prepared ; 

Hurl  down,  proud  Heaven,  thy  worst  f 
For  innocence  is  bared 

Before  a  bosom  cursed  !" 


fiUFUS  DAWES. — JONATHAN  LAWRENCE.  409 

He  stood — the  tempest  fell  asleep — 

The  hurricane  passed  o'er, — 
His  arms  that  keep  the  mighty  deep 

Showed  mercy,  and  forbore  ! 

RuFUs  Dawes. 


ISV.     LOOK    ALOFT. 

In  the  tempest  of  life,  when  the  wave  and  the  gale 
Are  around  and  above,  if  thy  footing  should  fail, — 
If  thine  eye  should  grow  dim,  and  thy  caution  depart, — 
*'  Look  aloft,"  and  be  firm,  and  be  fearless  of  heart. 

If  the  friend  who  embraced  in  prosperity's  glow. 
With  a  smile  for  each  joy,  and  a  tear  for  each  woe. 
Should  betray  thee  when  sorrows  like  clouds  are  arrayed, 
"  Look  aloft,"  to  the  friendship  which  never  shall  fade. 

Should  the  visions  which  hope  spreads  in  light  to  thine  eye. 
Like  the  tints  of  the  rainbow,  but  brighten  to  fly, — 
Then  turn,  and,  through  tears  of  repentant  regret, 
"  Look  aloft"  to  the  sun  that  is  never  to  set. 

Should  they  who  are  nearest  and  dearest  thy  heart,— 
Thy  relations  and  friends — ^in  sorrow  depart, — 
"  Look  aloft,"  from  the  darkness  and  dust  of  the  tomb. 
To  that  soil  where  affection  is  ever  in  bloom. 

And  oh,  when  Death  comes,  in  terrors,  to  cast 
His  fears  on  the  future,  his  pall  on  the  past, — 
In  that  moment  of  darkness,  with  hope  in  thy  heart, 
And  a  smile  in  thine  eye,  "  look  aloft,"  and  depart. 

Jonathan  Laweknck, 


138.      THE    OCEAN. 

0  THOU,  vast  Ocean !  ever-sounding  Sea  ! 
Thou  symbol  of  a  dread  immensity  ! 
Thou  thing  that  windest  round  the  solid  world 
Like  a  huge  animal,  which  downward  hurled 
From  the  black  clouds,  lies  weltering  and  alone. 
Lashing  and  writhing  till  its  strength  be  gone  ! 
Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder,  and  thy  sleep 
18 


410  SELECTIONS  m  POETRY. 

Is  as  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 

Thou  speakest  in  the  east  and  in  the  west 

At  once,  and  on  thy  heavily  laden  breast 

Fleets  come  and  go,  and  shapes  that  have  no  life 

Or  motion,  yet  are  moved,  and  meet  in  strife. 

The  earth  hath  naught  of  this  :  no  chance  nor  change 

Ruffles  its  surface,  and  no  spirits  dare 

Give  answer  to  the  tempest- waken  air ; 

But  o'er  its  wastes  the  weakly  tenants  range 

At  will,  and  wound  its  bosom  as  they  go. 

Ever  the  same,  it  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow  ; 

But  to  their  stated  rounds  the  seasons  come. 

And  pass,  hke  visions,  to  their  viewless  home. 

And  come  again  and  vanish ;  the  young  spring 

Looks  ever  bright  with  leaves  and  blossoming, 

And  winter  always  winds  his  sullen  horn 

When  the  wild  autumn,  with  a  look  forlorn. 

Dies  in  his  stormy  manhood ;  and  the  skies 

Weep,  and  flowers  sicken  when  the  summer  flies. 

Thou  only,  terrible  Ocean  !  hast  a  power, 

A  will,  a  voice,  and  in  thy  wrathful  hour. 

When  thou  dost  hft  thine  anger  to  the  clouds, 

A  fearful  and  magnificent  beauty  shrouds 

Thy  broad,  green  forehead.     If  thy  waves  be  driven 

Backwards  and  forwards,  by  the  shifting  wind, 

How  quickly  dost  thou  thy  great  strength  unbind. 

And  stretch  thine  arms,  and  war  at  once  with  heaven ! 

Thou  trackless  and  immeasurable  Main  ! 

On  thee  no  record  ever  lived  again 

To  meet  the  hand  that  writ  it :  line  nor  lead 

Hath  ever  fathomed  thy  profoundest  deeps. 

Where,  haply,  the  huge  monster  swells  and  sleeps. 

King  of  his  watery  limit,  who,  'tis  said. 

Can  move  the  mighty  Ocean  into  storm — 

Oh  !  wonderful  thou  art,  great  element ; 

And  fearful  in  thy  spleeny  humors  bent. 

And  lovely  in  repose  :  thy  summer  form 

Is  beautiful,  and  when  thy  silver  waves 

Make  music  in  earth's  dark  and  winding  caves, 

I  love  to  wander  on  thy  pebbled  beach 

Marking  the  sunlight  at  the  evening  hour. 

And  hearken  to  the  thoughts  thy  waters  teach — 

«  Eternity,  eternity,  and  power."  ^^^^  Cornwall. 


A^,OiS'YMOUS.    .  4.11 


139.      THE  CHARNEL  SHIP. 

The  storm  had  ceased — its  wrath  had  rent 

The  icy  wall  asunder ; 
And  many  a  piercing  glance  they  sent 

Around  in  awe  and  wonder ; 
And  sailor  hearts  their  rude  praise  gave 
To  God,  that  morn,  from  o'er  the  wave. 

But  lo ! — still  further  off  appears 

A  form  more  dim  and  dark  ; 
And  anxious  eyes,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 

Its  slow,  strange  progress  mark ; 
As  it  moves  towards  them  by  the  breeze 
Borne  onward  from  -more  northern  seas. 

Near,  and  more  near — and  can  it  be 

(More  vent'rous  than  their  own) 
A  ship,  whose  seeming  ghost  they  see 

Among  those  icebergs  thrown  ; 
With  broken  masts,  dismantled  all. 
And  dark  sails,  like  a  funeral  pall  ? 

"  God  of  the  Mariner !  protect 

Her  inmates  as  she  moves  along 
Through  perils  which,  ere  now,  had  wrecked— 

But  that  thine  arm  is  strong." 
Ha !  she  has  struck — she  grounds — she  stands 
Still  as  if  held  by  giant  hands. 

"  Quick,  man  the  boat !" — away  they  sprang. 

The  stranger  ship  to  aid  ; 
And  loud  their  hailing  voices  rang, 

And  rapid  speed  they  made  ; 
But  all  in  silence,  deep,  unbroke. 
The  vessel  stood — none  answering  spoke. 

'Twas  fearful :  not  a  sound  arose — 

No  moving  thing  was  there 
To  interrupt  the  dread  repose 

Which  filled  each  heart  with  fear. 
On  deck  they  silent  stepped,  and  sought,— 
Till  one,  a  man,  their  sad  sight  caught. 

He  was  alone  :  the  damp,  chill  mold 
Of  years  hung  on  his  cheek  ; 


4.12  SELECTIONS  IN  PGETET. 

A  pen  ia  his  hand  had  meekly  told 

The  tale  no  voice  might  speak  : 
"  Seventy  days,"  the  record  stood, 
"  Had  they  been  in  the  ice,  and  wanted  food." 

They  took  his  book,  and  turned  away, 

But  soon  discovered  where 
The  wife,  in  her  death-sleep,  gently  lay. 

Near  him,  in  life  most  dear  : 
Who,  seated  beside  his  young  heart's  pride, 
Long  years  before  had  calmly  died. 

There  was  a  solemn,  sacred  feeling 

Kindled  in  every  breast ; 
And  softly  from  the  cabin  stealing, 

They  left  them  to  their  rest — 
The  fair,  the  young,  the  constant  pair. 
They  left  them  with  a  blessing  there ; 

And  to  their  boat  returning,  each 

With  thoughtful  brows  and  haste, 
And  o'ercharged  hearts,  too  full  for  speech, 

Left  'midst  the  frozen  waste 
That  Charnel  Ship,  which  years  before 
Had  sailed  from  distant  Albion's  shore. 

They  left  her  in  the  icebergs,  where 

Few  venture  to  intrude: 
A  monument  of  death  and  fear, 

'Mid  ocean's  solitude ! 
And,  grateful  for  their  own  release. 
Thanked  God,  and  sought  their  homes  in  peace. 

Anontuou& 


140.      THE  PHANTOM  SHIP. 

The  breeze  had  sunk  to  rest. 

The  noonday  sun  was  high. 
And  ocean's  breast  lay  motionless 

Beneath  a  cloudless  sky. 
There  was  silence  in  the  air. 

There  was  silence  in  the  deep  ; 
-And  it  seemed  as  though  that  burning  calm 

Were  nature's  final  sleep. 


ANONYMOUS.  413 

The  mid-day  watch  was  set, 

Beneath  the  blaze  of  light,- 
When  there  came  a  cry  from  the  tall  mas^  head, 

A  sail !  a  sail,  in  sight ! 
And  o'er  the  far  horizon 

A  snowy  speck  appeared. 
And  every  eye  was  strained  to  watch 

The  vessel  as  she  neared. 

i. 

There  was  no  breath  of  air. 

Yet  she  bounded  on  her  way. 
And  the  dancing  waves  around  her  prow 

Were  flashing  into  spray. 
She  answered  not  their  hail. 

Alongside  as  she  passed  ; 
There  were  none  who  trod  her  spacious  deck, 

Not  a  seaman  on  the  mast :  * 

No  hand  to  guide  her  helm  ; 

Yet  on  she  held  her  course  ; 
She  swept  along  that  waveless  sea. 

As  with  a  tempest's  force  ; 
A  silence,  as  of  death, 

Was  o'er  that  vessel  spread  : 
She  seemed  a  thing  of  another  world. 

The  world  where  dwell  the  dead. 

She  passed  away  from  sight. 

The  deadly  calm  was  o'er. 
And  the  spell-bound  ship  pursued  her  course 

Before  the  breeze  once  more  ; 
And  clouds  across  the  sky 

Obscured  the  noonday  sun. 
And  the  winds  arose  at  the  tempest's  call, 

Before  the  day  was  done. 

Midnight,  and  still  the  storm  ' 

Raged  wrathfully  and  loud. 
And  deep  in  the  trough  of  the  heaving  sea 

Labored  that  vessel  proud  : 
There  was  darkness  all  around. 

Save  where  lightning  flashes  keen 
Played  on  the  crests  of  the  broken  waves, 

And  ht  the  depths  between. 


414  SELECTIONS  IN  TOETKY. 

AroHnd  her  and  below, 

The  waste  of  waters  roared. 
And  answered  the  crash  of  the  faUing  masts, 

As  they  cast  them  overboard. 
At  every  billow's  shock 

Her  quivering  timbers  strain  ; 
And  as  she  rose  on  a  crested  wave. 

That  strange  ship  passed  again. 

And  o'er  that  stormy  sea 

She  flew  before  the  gale. 
Yet  she  had  not  struck  her  lightest  spar, 

Nor  furled  her  loftiest  sail. 
Another  blinding  flash. 

And  nearer  yet  she  seemed. 
And  a  pale  blue  light  along  her  sails 

And  o'er  her  rigging  gleamed. 

But  it  showed  no  seaman's  form, 

No  hand  her  course  to  guide ; 
And  to  their  signals  of  distress 

The  winds  alone  replied. 
The  Phantom  Ship  passed  on, 

Driven  o'er  her  pathless  way, 
But  helplessly  the  sinking  wreck 

Amid  the  breakers  lay. 

The  angry  tempest  ceased, 

The  winds  were  hushed  to  sleep. 
And  calm  and  bright  the  sun  again 

Shone  out  upon  the  deep. 
But  that  gallant  ship  no  more 

Shall  roam  the  ocean  free ; 
She  has  reached  her  final  haven. 

Beneath  the  dark  blue  sea. 

And  many  a  hardy  seaman. 

Who  fears  nor  storm  nor  fight. 
Yet  trembles  when  the  Phantom  Ship 

Drives  past  his  watch  at  night ; 
For  it  augurs  death  and  danger  ; 

It  bodes  a  watery  grave. 
With  sea-weeds  for  his  pillow. 

For  his  shroud,  the  wandering  wave. 

Anonymous 


AIIONYMOUS.  4:15 


141.      THE    SERPENT  OF  THE  STILL. 


They  tell  me  of  the  Egyptian  asp, 

The  bite  of  which  is  death  : 
The  victim  yielding,  with  a  gasp, 

His  hot  and  hm-ried  breath. 
The  Egyptian  queen,  says  history, 

The  reptile  vile  applied ; 
And,  in  the  arms  of  agony. 

Victoriously  died. 

They  tell  me  that  in  Italy 

There  is  a  reptile  dread. 
The  sting  of  which  is  agony. 

And  dooms  .the  victim  dead. 
But  it  is  said  that  music's  sound 

May  soothe  the  poisoned  part. 
Yea,  heal  the  galling,  ghastly  wound, 

And  save  the  sinking  heart. 

They  tell  me,  too,  of  serpents  vast, 

That  crawl  on  Afric's  shore. 
And  swallow  men :  historians  past 

Tell  us  of  one  of  yore  ; — 
But  there  is  yet  one,  of  a  kind 

More  fatal  than  the  whole. 
That  stings  the  body  and  the  mind : 

Yea,  it  devours  the  soul. 

'Tis  found  almost  o'er  all  the  earth, 

Save  Turkey's  wide  domains ; 
And  there,  if  e'er  it  had  a  birth, 

'Tis  kept  in  mercy's  chains. 
'Tis  found  in  our  own  gardens  gay. 

In  our  own  flowery  fields ; 
Devouring,  every  passing  day, 

Its  thousands  at  its  meals. 

The  poisonous  venom  withers  youth, 

Blasts  character  and  health. 
All  sink  before  it :  hope  and  truth, 

And  comfort,  joy,  and  wealth. 
It  is  the  author,  too,  of  shame ; 

And  never  fails  to  kill. 
Reader,  dost  thou  desire  the  name  ? 

The  Serpent  uf  the  Still. 


A.NONTMOUta. 


^16  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 


"142.     WASHINGTON. 

Land  of  the  West !  though  passing  brief 

The  record  of  thine  age, 
Thou  hast  a  name  that  darkens  all 

On  history's  wide  page  ! 
Let  all  the  blasts  of  fame  ring  out — 

Thine  shall  be  loudest  far  : 
Let  others  boast  their  satellites — 

Thou  hast  the  planet  star. 

Thou  hast  a  name  whose  characters 

Of  light  shall  ne'er  depart ; 
'Tis  stamped  upon  the  dullest  brain. 

And  warms  the  coldest  heart ; 
A  war-cry  fit  for  any  land 

Where  freedom's  to  be  won. 
Land  of  the  West !  it  stands  alone — 

It  is  thy  Washington  I 

Rome  had  its  Caesar,  great  and  brave ; 

But  stain  was  on  his  wreath : 
He  lived  the  heartless  conqueror. 

And  died  the  tyrant's  death. 
France  had  its  eagle  ;  but  his  wings, 

Though  lofty  they  might  soar. 
Were  spread  in  false  ambition's  flight, 

And  dipped  in  murder's  gore. 

Those  hero-gods,  whose  mighty  sway 

Would  fain  have  chained  the  waves — 
Who  fleshed  their  blades  with  tiger  zeal. 

To  make  a  world  of  slaves — 
Who,  though  their  kindred  barred  the  path, 

Still  fiercely  waded  on — 
Oh,  where  shall  be  their  "  glory"  by 

The  side  of  Washington  ? 

No  car  of  triumph  bore  him  through 

A  city  filled  with  grief ; 
No  groaning  captives  at  the  wheels. 

Proclaimed  him  victor  chief; 


ELIZA  COOK. — ANOKl'MOUtJ.  417 

He  broke  the  gyves  of  slavery, 

With  stroncf  and  his^h  disdain, 
And  cast  no  sceptre  from  the  links 

When  he  had  crushed  the  chain. 

He  saved  his  land,  but  did  not  lay 

His  soldier  trappings  down 
To  change  them  for  the  regal  vest, 

And  don  a  kingly  crown. 
Fame  was  too  earnest  in  her  joy — 

Too  proud  of  such  a  son — 
To  let  a  robe  and  title  mask 

A  noble  Washington. 

Eliza  Cook. 


143.   THE  SEVENTH  PLAGUE  OF  EGYPT. 

*TwAs  morn — the  rising  splendor  rolled 
On  marble  towers  and  roofs  of  gold ; 
Hall,  court,  and  gallery  below. 
Were  crowded  with  a  living  flow ; 
Egyptian,  Arab,  Nubian  there. 
The  bearers  of  the  bow  and  spear ; 
The  hoary  priest,  the  Chaldee  sage. 
The  slave,  the  gemmed  and  glittering  page- 
Helm,  turban,  and  tiara,  shone 
A  dazzling  ring  round  Pharaoh's  throne. 

There  came  a  man — the  human  tide 
Shrank  backward  from  his  stately  stride  : 
His  cheek  with  storm  and  time  was  tanned ; 
A  shepherd's  staff  was  in  his  hand ; 
A  shudder  of  instinctive  fear 
Told  the  dark  king  what  step  was  near ; 
On  through  the  host  the  stranger  came, 
It  parted  round  his  form  like  flame. 

He  stooped  not  at  the  footstool  stone, 
He  clasped  not  sandal,  kissed  not  throne; 
Erect  he  stood  amid  the  ring, 
His  only  words — "  Be  just,  O  king !" 
On  Pharaoh's  cheek  the  blood  flushed  high, 
A  fire  was  in  his  sullen  eye ; 
18* 


4 IS  SELEOTIOISrS  IN  POETET. 

Yet  on  the  chief  of  Israel 
No  arrow  of  his  thousands  fell : 
All  mute  and  moveless  as  the  grave 
Stood  chilled  the  satrap  and  the  slave. 

"  Thou'rt  come,"  at  length  the  monarch  spoke ;' 

Haughty  and  high  the  words  outbroke : 

•*  Is  Israel  weary  of  its  lair. 

The  forehead  peeled,  the  shoulder  bare  ? 

Take  back  the  answer  to  your  band ; 

Go,  reap  the  wind  ;  go,  plough  the  sand  ;     ' 

Go,  vilest  of  the  living  vile. 

To  build  the  never-ending  pile. 

Till,  darkest  of  the  nameless  dead. 

The  vulture  on  their  flesh  is  fed. 

What  better  asks  the  howhng  slave 

Than  the  base  life  our  bounty  gave  ?" 

Shouted  in  pride  the  turbaned  peers^ 

Upclashed  to  heaven  the  golden  spears. 

"  King !  thou  and  thine  are  doomed ! — Behold  !*' 

The  prophet  spoke — the  thunder  rolled  ! 

Along  the  pathway  of  the  sun 

Sailed  vapory  mountains,  wild  and  dun. 

'*  Yet  there  is  time,"  the  prophet  said  : 

He  raised  his  staff — the  stoim  was  stayed : 

"  King !  be  the  word  of  freedom  given : 

What  art  thou,  man,  to  war  with  heaven  ?" 

There  came  no  word — the  thunder  broke  ! 

Like  a  huge  city's  final  smoke. 

Thick,  lurid,  stifling,  mixed  with  flame. 

Through  court  and  hall  the  vapors  came. 

Loose  as  the  stubble  in  the  field. 

Wide  flew  the  men  of  spear  and  shield  ; 

Scattered  like  foam  along  the  wave. 

Flew  the  proud  pageant,  prince  and  slave  : 

Or,  in  the  chains  of  terror  bound. 

Lay,  corpse-like,  on  the  smouldering  ground. 

"  Speak,  king ! — the  wrath  is  but  begun — 

Still  dumb  ? — then,  Heaven,  thy  will  be  done !" 

Echoed  from  earth  a  hollow  roar 
Like  ocean  on  the  midnight  shore 


ANONYMOUS.  419 

A  sheet  of  lightning  o'er  them  wheeled. 

The  solid  ground  beneath  them  reeled ; 

In  dust  sank  roof  and  battlement ; 

Like  webs  the  giant  walls  were  rent ; 

Red,  broad,  before  his  startled  gaze, 

The  monarch  saw  his  Egypt  blaze. 

Still  swelled  the  plague— the  flame  grew  pale  ; 

Burst  from  the  clouds  the  charge  of  hail ; 

With  arrowy  keenness,  iron  weight, 

Down  poured  the  ministers  of  fate  ; 

Till  man  and  cattle,  crushed,  congealed, 

Covered  with  death  the  boundless  field. 

Still  swelled  the  plague — uprose  the  blast, 
The  avenger,  fit  to  be  the  last ; 
On  ocean,  river,  forest,  vale. 
Thundered  at  once  the  mighty  gale. 
Before  the  whirlwind  flew  the  tree. 
Beneath  the  whirlwind  roared  the  sea ; 
A  thousand  ships  were  on  the  wave — 
Where  are  they? — -ask  that  foaming  grave! 
Down  go  the  hope,  the  pride  of  years, 
Down  go  the  myriad  mariners  ; 
The  riches  of  Earth's  richest  zone. 
Gone !  hke  a  flash  of  lightning,  gone ! 

And,  lo !  that  first  fierce  triumph  o'er; 
Swells  Ocean  on  the  shrinking  shore ; 
Still  onward,  onward,  dark  and  wide, 
Engulfs  the  land  the  furiest  tide. 
Then  bowed  thy  spirit,  stubborn  king. 
Thou  serpent,  reft  of  fang  and  sting ; 
Humbled  before  the  prophet's  knee. 
He  groaned,  "  Be  injured  Israel  free." 

To  heaven  the  sage  upraised  his  wand ; 
Back  rolled  the  deluge  from  the  land ; 
Back  to  its  caverns  sank  the  gale ; 
Fled  from  the  noon  the  vapors  pale ; 
Broad  burned  again  the  joyous  sun : 
The  hour  of  wrath  and  death  was  done. 

Anon-mjous, 


420  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 


144.      FRIENDS  SEPARATED  BY  DEATH, 

Friend  after  friend  departs  ; 

Who  has  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts. 

That  finds  not  here  an  end ; 
Were  this  frail  world  our  final  rest, 
Living  or  dying  none  were  blest. 

Beyond  the  flight  of  time — 

Beyond  the  reign  of  death — 
There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime 

Where  life  is  not  a  breath  ; 
Nor  life's  aflfeetions  transient  fire. 
Whose  sparks  fly  upward  and  expu-e. 

There  is  a  world  above, 

Where  parting  is  unknown  ; 
A  long  eternity  of  love, 

Formed  for  the  good  alone ; 
And  Faith  beholds  the  dying  here. 
Translated  to  that  glorious  sphere. 

Thus  star  by  star  declines. 

Till  all  are  past  away ; 
As  morning  high  and  higher  shines. 

To  pure  and  perfect  day : 
Nor  sink  those  stars  in  empty  night. 
But  hide  themselves  in  heaven's  own  light. 

MONTGOMEKY 


145.      THE  CHARGE. 

The  horn  and  the  trumpet  are  ringing  afar. 

As  the  summons  to  battle  is  sounding ; 
And  the  steed,  as  he  catches  the  signal  of  war. 

In  the  pride  of  his  spirit  is  bounding ; 
Shrill  it  echoes  afar,  over  hill  and  o'er  plain. 
And  the  wide  distant  mountains  repeat  it  again  ,* 
And  the  shout  of  the  warrior,  and  nearer  the  song, 
Peal  aloud  as  the  glittering  bands  are  hurrying  along 


PEKCIVAL. PrEEPONT.  42i 

As  on,  on,  on,  on,  pours  the  tide  of  fight. 
Still  aloft  floats  the  tossing  flag,  in  the  glance  of  morning's 
light. 

We  leap  to  our  saddles,  we  range  us  in  line 

As  the  voice  of  the  trumpet  is  calling  : 
On  the  crown  of  yon  ridge,  bright  their  drawn  sabres  shine  ; 

Down  its  slope,  like  a  flood,  they  are  falling. 
**  Give  the  spur  to  the  charge,  ere  the  foeman  is  nigh  : 
Rush  amain,  as  the  forest  rings  loud  with  your  cry  : 
Speed  on  to  the  shock,  in  his  midway  career — 
For  our  sires  still  were  first  in  fight ;  they  never  thought  of 

fear !" 
So  on,  on,  on,  on,  o'er  the  sounding  plain. 
To  the  wild  conflict  fierce  they  rush,  and  together  dash  amain. 

Peecivai^ 


146.      ON  LAYING  THE  CORNER-STONE  OF  THE  BUNKER-HILL 

MONUMENT. 

0,  IS  not  this  a  holy  spot  ? 

'Tis  the  high-place  of  freedom's  birth ! 
God  of  our  fathers  !  is  it  not 

The  holiest  spot  of  all  the  earth  ? 

Quenched  is  thy  flame  on  Horeb's  side  ; 

The  robber  roams  o'er  Sinai  now  ; 
And  those  old  men,  thy  seers,  abide 

No  more  on  Zion's  mournful  brow. 

But  on  this  hill,  thou.  Lord,  hast  dwelt, 
Since  round  its  head  the  war-cloud  curled. 

And  wrapped  our  fathers,  where  they  knelt. 
In  prayer  and  battle  for  a  world. 

Here  sleeps  their  dust :  'tis  holy  ground : 
And  we,  the  cliildren  of  the  brave, 

From  the  four  winds  are  gathered  round, 
To  lay  our  offering  on  their  grave. 

Free  as  the  winds  around  us  blow. 
Free  as  the  waves  below  us  spread, 

We  rear  a  pile,  that  long  shall  throw 
Its  shadow  on  their  sacred  bed. 


4t22  SELECTIONS  m  POETET. 

But  on  their  deeds  no  shade  shall  fall. 

While  o'er  their  couch  thy  sun  shall  flamt 

Thine  ear  was  bowed  to  hear  their  call. 
And  thy  right  hand  shall  guard  their  fame. 

PlERPOft 


147.      THE  MARSEILLES  HYMN. 

Ye  sons  of  Freedom,  wake  to  glory ! 

Hark !  hark  !  what  myriads  bid  you  rise ! 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grandsires  hoary. 

Behold  their  tears,  and  hear  their  cries. 
Shall  hateful  tyrants,  mischiefs  breeding, 

With  hireling  hosts,  a  ruffian  band. 

Affright  and  desolate  the  land. 
While  peace  and  liberty  lie  bleeding  ? 

To  arms !  to  arms,  ye  brave ! 
Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath : ' 

March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved 
On  victory  or  death  ! 

Now,  now,  the  dangerous  storm  is  rolling. 
Which  treacherous  kings,  confederate,  raise  ; 

The  dogs  of  war,  let  loose,  are  howling, 
And  lo !  our  fields  and  cities  blaze  ; 

And  shall  we  basely  view  the  ruin, 
While  lawless  force,  with  guilty  stride, 
Spreads  desolation  far  and  wide. 

With  crimes  and  blood  his  hands  imbruing  ? 
To  arms  !  to  arms,  ye  brave  ! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath  : 
March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved 
On  victory  or  death ! 

With  luxury  and  pride  surrounded. 

The  vile  insatiate  despots  dare. 
Their  thirst  of  power  and  gold  unbounded. 

To  mete  and  vend  the  light  and  air. 
Like  beasts  of  burden  would  they  load  us ; 

Like  gods,  would  bid  their  slaves  adore  ; 

But  man  is  man,  and  who  is  more  ? 
Then  shall  they  longer  lash  and  goad  us  ? 


J.  K.  DE  l'iSLE. — ^FKANOES  J.  CKOSBY.  423 

To  arms !  to  arms,  ye  brave  ! 

Th'  avenging  sword  imsheath  : 
March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved 

On  victory  or  death ! 

0  Liberty !  can  man  resign  thee. 

Once  having  felt  thy  generous  flame  ? 
Can  dungeons,  bolts,  and  bars  confine  thee ; 

Or  whips  thy  noble  spirit  tame  ? 
Too  long  the  Avorld  has  wept,  bewailing. 

That  falsehood's  dagger  tyrants  wield  ; 

But  freedom  is  our  sword  and  shield, 
A.nd  all  their  arts  are  unavailing. 

To  arms !  to  arms,  ye  brave  ! 
Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath  : 

March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved 

On  victory  or  death  !  j^  j^_  p^  jjj^^^^ 


148.     SPEAK  NOT  HARSHLY. 

Speak  not  harshly  when  reproving 
Those  from  duty's  path  who  stray  : 

If  we  would  reclaim  the  erring, 
Kindness  must  each  action  sway. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  wayward ; — 
Win  their  confidence — their  love  ; 

They  will  feel  how  pure  the  motive 
That  hath  led  us  to  reprove. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  stranger. 
Though  he  come  in  humble  guise ; 

Think  how  slight  a  thing  would  kindle 
Gladness  in  a  stranger's  eyes. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  felon. 
Though  like  adamant  his  heart ; 

Touch  one  chord  of  fond  affection. 
And  the  scalding  tear  may  start. 

Speak  not  harshly  to  the  orphan. 
They  have  borne  of  grief  their  share  ; 


424  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 

Add  not  to  their  heavy  burden. 
Add  not  to  corroding  care. 

Speak  not  harshly,  was  the  precept 
Which  to  man  the  Saviour  taught ; — 

May  that  precept  ever  guide  us — 
Gentle  words  will  cost  us  naught. 

,    Feances  J.  Ckobbt 


149.     THE  DEATH  OF  MAJOR  RINGGOLD. 

They  bore  him  from  the  battle-field 

And  clash  of  arms  away ; 
Extended  on  a  lowly  couch. 

The  dying  hero  lay. 

The  life-blood  issues  from  the  wound — 

All  human  aid  is  vain ; — 
A  faithful  band  in  silence  weeps 

Their  brave  commander  slain. 

Through  foemen's  ranks  he  proudly  rode, 

They  marked  his  lofty  brow ; 
His  keen  dark  eye  had  defiance  flashed ; — 

But  oh !  he  has  fallen  now. 

He  beckoned  to  one  who  near  him  stood — 
Leaned  his  head  on  his  friendly  breast. 

And  then  in  accents  weak  and  low. 
These  words  to  him  addressed. 

"  I  know  that  life  is  ebbing  fast ; 

All,  all  will  soon  be  o*er ; — 
My  Country !  I  have  fought  for  thee. 

But  I  fight  for  thee  no  more. 

"  And  when  these  eyes  in  death  are  closed. 

And  tolls  my  funeral  knell, 
To  Cadwal'der  and  his  brave  corps. 

Bear  thou  my  last  farewell." 

F£A(fC£S  J.  CnosBT. 


FRANCES  J.  CROSBY. 


425 


150.  THE  DEATH  OF  COLONEL  GLAY. 

Lo !  on  the  bloodstained  battle-field 

A  wounded  hero  lying ! 
Dim  is  the  lustre  of  his  eye — 

For  he,  alas  !  is  dying. 

See  how  with  feeble  hand  he  grasps 

The  sword  so  faithful  ever ! 
Now  drops  the  weapon  by  his  side. 

To  be  resumed — ^no,  never. 

Oh,  gallant  Clay !  though  for  thy  brow 

Its  laurels  fame  is  wreathing, — 
Vain  trophies  these,  thy  bosom  now 

Its  last  faint  sigh  is  heaving. 

Back !  tyrants !  would  ye  deeper  make 

The  wounds  already  given  ? 
You  from  an  aged  father's  heart 

Another  tie  have  riven. 

Intrepid  Warrior !  thou  hast  left 

A  deathless  name  behind  thee ; 
That  name  unsullied,  bright  shall  shine. 

Though  the  dark  grave  may  hide  thee 

Thou  by  thy  General's  side  hast  fought. 

And  Taylor  will  deplore  thee ; 
And  many  a  heart  that  loved  thee  dear 

Will  weep  in  silence  o'er  thee. 

FEANCESk  J.  Crosby 


151.      GENERAL  SCOTT. 

Hail,  son  of  Columbia !  the  patriot  flame 
Burns  bright  in  each  breast  while  we  tell  of  thy  fame ; 
We  have  heard  of  the  deeds  thou  so  nobly  hast  done. 
We  have  heard  of  thy  battles  so  fearlessly  won. 

Thou  hast  carried  our  flag  to  a  far  distant  shore  ; 
See !  it  streams  from  the  towers  of  Juan  d'Ulloa ; 


426  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

And  the  eagle  hath  perched  on  those  battlements  high, 
To  rest  in  his  course  through  the  blue  vaulted  sky. 

When  the  war-cloud  hung  dark,  'twas  thy  voice  that  inspired; 

And  the  hearts  of  thy  soldiers  with  energy  fired  ; 

The  foremost  in  battle,  the  fearless  in  fight, 

While  thy  sword  in  the  sunbeam  was  glittering  bright. 

In  the  halls  of  Mont'zuma  now  revel  the  brave, 
'Tis  thine  arm  that  hath  conquered  the  Mexican  slave ; 
Thou  hast  buried  thy  sword  in  the  enemy's  breast. 
They  quailed  at  thy  glance — thou  hast  laid  them  at  rest. 

A  prey  to  the  vultures  that  thirsted  for  gore, 
They  fell  by  the  town  of  St.  Juan  d'Ulloa ; 
And  the  raven's  wild  screech  will  their  requiem  be. 
While  aroimd  them  is  floating  the  flag  of  the  free. 

The  bugle  is  hushed,  and  the  cannon's  loud  roar 
Shall  wake  thee  from  slumber  to  battle  no  more  ; 
Thy  hand  we  now  grasp,  and  we  hail  thee  with  pride,     , 
As  we  would  all  the  heroes  who  fought  by  thy  side. 

Yes,  welcome,  thrice  welcome,  again  and  again  ! 
With  transport  unbounded  we  echo  the  strain ; 
Thy  triumphs  so  glorious  shall  ne'er  be  forgot — 
Hurrah  for  the  patriot  General  Scott ! 

Frances  J.  Ceosbt. 


152.  THE  DEATH  OF  GENERAL  TAYLOR. 

A  WAIL  is  in  the  Capitol, 

A  wail  of  anguish  deep, 
That  startles  with  a  fearful  sound 

The  night  wind  from  its  sleep. 
The  bravig  old  oak  hath  bowed  its  head, 

A  victim  to  the  blast ; 
Death  holds  within  his  conquering  arm 

The  conqueror  at  last.  • 

There's  mourning  in  the  Capitol : 
With  slow  and  solemn  tread. 

Go  hang  with  weeds  of  cypress  now 
The  chambers  of  the  dead. 


FRANCES.  J.  CKOSBT.  4-27 

Ye  may  not  speak  at  such  a  time. 

But  gaze  in  mute  despair ; 
Ye  would  but  mock  those  weeping  ones 

"Who  kneel  heart-broken  there. 

A  gloom  is  in  the  Capitol, 

And  like  a  dismal  pall, 
It  must,  with  melancholy  hue, 

On  the  whole  nation  fall. 
For  she  will  see  the  radiant  gem 

Which  she  so  proudly  wore. 
Drop  from  her  brilliant  coronet. 

To  sparkle  there  no  more. 

Oh  !  Taylor !  thou  hast  nobly  won 

A  hero's  deathless  name  ; 
But  what  to  thee  are  titles  now  ? — 

What  honor,  rank,  or  fame  ? 
Where  thou  didst  raise  thy  country's  flag. 

In  triumph  it  shall  wave  ; 
But  all  thy  glorious  deeds  must  end 

Untimely  in  the  grave. 

'Tis  sweet  to  think  that  with  tliine  own 

Was  breathed  thy  latest  sigh  ; 
What  comfort  in  thy  parting  words — 

**  I  am  prepared  to  die." 
The  storms  of  battle  thou  hast  braved. 

And  many  a  conflict  passed  ; 
Now  peaceful  in  thy  native  land 

Thine  eyes  are  closed  at  last. 

A  warning  from  the  Capitol, 

A  deep  sepulchral  sound  ! 
List  to  the  mournful  requiem 

With  solemn  awe  profound. 
Nor  let  the  turbid,  restless  tide 

Of  .party  feeling  flow  ; 
He  was  a  Nation's  President, 

Be  ours  a  Nation's  woe. 

FfiANCES  J   CbOSBT. 


42S  SELECTIONS  IN  POETRY. 

153.     TIPPER  ART. 
(A  "Song  of  the  Nation"  in  the  late  Irish  rebellion.) 

Let  Britain  boast  her  British  hosts. 
About  them  all  right  little  care  we  ; 

Not  British  seas  nor  British  coasts 
Can  match  The  Man  of  Tipperary  ! 

Tall  is  his  form,  his  heart  is  warm, 

His  spirit  light  as  any  fairy — 
His  wrath  is  fearful  as  the  storm 

That  sweeps  The  Hills  of  Tipperary  ! 

Lead  him  to  fight  for  native  land, 

His  is  no  courage  cold  and  wary ; 
The  troops  hve  not  on  earth  would  stand 

The  headlong  Charge  of  Tipperary  ! 

Yet  meet  him  in  his  cabin  rude. 
Or  dancing  with  his  dark-haired  Mary 

You'd  swear  they  knew  no  other  mood 
But  Mirth  and  Love  in  Tipperary  ! 

You're  free  to  share  his  scanty  meal, 
His  plighted  word  he'll  never  vary  : 

In  vain  they  tried  with  gold  and  steel 
To  shake  The  Faith  of  Tipperary  ! 

Let  Britain,  too,  her  banner  brag. 

We'll  lift  The  Green  more  proud  and  airy ; 

Be  mine  the  lot  to  bear  that  flag. 
And  head  The  Men  of  Tipperary ! 

Though  Britain  boasts  her  British  hosts. 
About  them  all  right  little  care  we — 

Give  us,  to  guard  our  native  coasts, 

The  Matchless  Men  of  Tipperary!     Thomas  DAvia 


154.      THE  vow  OF  TIPPERARY. 
(A  «  Song  of  the  Nation"  in  the  late  Irish  rebellion.) 

From  Carrick  streets  to  Shannon  shore. 
From  Slievenamon  to  Ballindeary, 
From  Longford  Pass  to  Galtymore, 
Come  hear  The  Vow  of  Tipperary. 


THOMAS  DAVIS.  429 

Too  long  we  fought  for  Britain's  cause, 
And  of  our  blood  were  never  chary  ; 
She  paid  us  back  with  tyrant  laws, 
And  thinned  The  Homes  of  Tipperary. 

Too  long,  with  rash  and  single  arm. 
The  peasant  strove  to  guard  his  eyrie, 
Till  Irish  blood  bedewed  each  farm. 
And  Ireland  wept  for  Tipperary. 

But  never  more  we'll  lift  a  hand — 
We  swear  by  God  and  Virgin  Mary ! 
Except  in  war  for  Native  Land, 
And  that's  The  Vow  of  Tipperary  ! 

Thomas  Davis. 


155.      THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK.* 
(A  «  Song  of  the  Nation,"  in  the  Iat«  Irish  rebellion,) 

Oh,  hurrah  !  for  the  men,  who,  when  danger  is  nigh. 
Are  found  in  the  front,  looking  death  in  the  eye. 
Hurrah !  for  the  men  who  kept  Limerick's  wall. 
And  hurrah  !  for  bold  Sarsfield,  the  bravest  of  all. 
King  William's  men  round  Luimneach  lay. 
His  cannon  crashed  from  day  to  day. 
Till  the  Southron  wall  was  swept  away 

At  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas.f 
'Tis  afternoon,  yet  hot  the  sun, 
When  William  fires  the  signal  gun. 
And,  like  its  flash,  his  columns  run 

On  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 

The  breach  gaped  out  two  perches  wide, 
The  fosse  is  filled,  the  batteries  plied ; 
Can  the  Irishmen  that  onset  bide 

At  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas  ? 
Across  the  ditch  the  columns  dash. 
Their  bay'nets  o'er  the  rubbish  flash. 
When  sudden  comes  a  rending  crash 

From  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 

..,*  August  27, 1590.  t  "  Limerick,  of  the  azure  river." 


430  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

The  bullets  rain  in  pelting  shower, 

And  rocks  and  beams  from  wall  and  tower  ; 

The  Englishmen  are  glad  to  cower 

At  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas  ; 
But,  rallied  soon,  again  they  pressed. 
Their  bay'nets  pierced  full  many  a  breast, 
Till  they  bravely  won  the  breach's  crest 

At  tl^e  city  of  Luinmeach  lionnglas. 

Then  fiercer  grew  the  Irish  yell. 
And  madly  on  the  foe  they  fell. 
Till  the  breach  grew  like  the  jaws  of  heU — 

Not  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 
The  women  fought  before  the  men. 
Each  man  became  a  match  for  ten, 
So  back  they  pushed  the  villains  then. 

From  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 

But  Bradenburgh  the  ditch  has  crossed, 
And  gained  our  flank  at  little  cost — 
The  bastion's  gone — the  town  is  lost ; 

Oh  !  poor  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 
When,  sudden,  Sarsfield  springs  the  mine — 
Like  rockets  rise  the  Germans  fine. 
And  come  down  dead,  'mid  smoke  and  shine, 

At  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 

Out,  with  a  roar,  the  Irish  sprung, 
And  back  the  beaten  English  flung, 
Till  William  fled,  his  lords  among. 

From  the  city  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 
'Twas  thus  was  fought  that  glorious  fight. 
By  Irishmen,  for  Ireland's  right — 
May  all  such  days  have  such  a  night 

As  the  Battle  of  Luimneach  lionnglas. 
Oh !  hurrah  for  the  men,  who,  when  danger  is  nigh 
Are  found  in  the  front,  looking  death  in  the  eye. 
Hurrah  !  for  the  men  who  kept  Limerick's  wall, 
And  hurrah !  for  bold  Sarsfield,  the  bravest  of  all. 

Thomas  DAns. 


ANONYMOUS.  4:31 

156.      PADDIES    EVERMORE. 
^■A  "  Song  of  the  Natiou"  in  the  late  Irish  rebellion.) 

The  hour  is  past  to  fawn  or  crouch 

As  suppliants  for  our  right ; 
Let  word  and  deed  unshrinking  vouch 

The  banded  millions'  might : 
Let  them  who  scorned  the  fountain  rill, 

Now  dread  the  torrent's  roar. 
And  hear  our  echoed  chorus  still, 

We're  Paddies  evermore. 

What  though  they  menace,  suffering  men 

Their  threats  and  them  despise ; 
Or  promise  justice  once  again. 

We  know  their  words  are  lies ; 
We  stand  resolved  those  rights  to  claim 

They  robbed  us  of  before, 
Our  own  dear  nation  and  our  name, 

As  Paddies  evermore. 

What  reck  we  though  six  hundred  years 

Have  o'er  our  thraldom  rolled. 
The  soul  that  roused  0' Conor's  spears. 

Still  lives  as  true  and  bold  ; 
The  tide  of  foreign  power  to  stem 

Our  fathers  bled  of  yore, 
And  we  stand  here  to-day,  like  them, 

True  Paddies  evermore. 

Where's  our  allegiance  ?     With  the  land. 

For  which  they  nobly  died ; 
Our  duty  ?     By  our  cause  to  stand. 

Whatever  chance  betide ; 
Our  cherished  hope  ?     To  heal  the  woes. 

That  rankle  at  her  core  ; 
Our  scorn  and  hatred  ?     To  her  foes. 

Like  Paddies  evermore. 

The  hour  is  past  to  fawn  or  crouch 

As  suppliants  for  our  right ; 
Let  word  and  deed  unshrinking  vouch 

The  banded  millions'  misrht ; 


4:32  SELECTIONS  IN  POETBY. 

Let  tlicm  who  scorned  the  fountain  rill, 
Now  dread  the  torrent's  roar, 

And  hear  our  echoed  chorus  still. 
We're  Paddies  evermore. 


Anonymous. 


157.      THE  SONG  OF  THE  POOR. 
(A  "  Song  of  the  Nation"  in  the  late  Irish  rebellion.) 

Harp  of  Erin,  freshly  pealing  ! 

Harp,  by  patriot  genius  strung ! 
Scatter  wide  each  finer  feeling. 

Let  not  strife  alone  be  sung. 
Pleased,  enchanted,  have  I  heard  thee 

High-born  valor's  praise  impart. 
But  a  nobler  theme  ne'er  stirred  thee 

Than  the  Irish  peasant's  heart ! 

Let  the  hero's  brow  be  braided. 

Let  the  victor's  crest  be  raised ; 
But  the  poor  man  strives  unaided. 

But  the  poor  man  sinks  unpraised. 
Yet,  whilst  woes  and  wrongs  importune. 

And  gaunt  death  uprears  his  dart, 
Where's  the  field  of  feller  fortune 

Than  the  Irish  peasant's  heart  ? 

Well  he  bears  him  in  the  quarrel ; 

Never  knight  of  high  degree. 
For  a  meed  of  gold  or  laurel. 

Showed  a  firmer  front  than  he. 
If,  for  wife  and  children  only, 

Bhnding  tears  will  sometimes  start. 
What,  in  all  its  conflict  lonely. 

Guides  the  Irish  peasant's  heart  ? 

'Neath  a  despot's  frigid  scanning, 

From  a  height  he  deems  secure, 
'Neath  a  bigot's  saintly  fanning, 

Execratingly  demure. 
Still  we  see  one  sacred  feeling 

Solitary  light  impart, 
Where  his  Soggarth*  lowly  kneeling. 

Schools  the  Irish  peasant's  heart. 

*  Irish  ioT  priest. 


ANONTMOrS. — J.  AUGUSTUS  SHEA.  438 

**  Tranquil  wait  the  birth  of  time ! 

Temp'rate,  word  and  action  be  I 
Whosoe'er  commits  a  crime, 

Wrongs  his  cause,  himself,  and  me. 
Sage  endurance  conquers  fate. 

Let  oppression  wince  and  start" — 
Dangerous  doctrine,  men  of  state. 

For  the  Irish^easant's  heart ! 

Harp  of  Erin,  strongly  waking ! 

Harp,  by  patriot  virtue  strung! 
Freedom's  hand  thy  chords  is  shaking, 

Freedom's  hymn  is  o'er  them  sung. 
Sound  it  ever  !  never  sparing 

Tyrant's  rage  or  bigot's  art ; 
But  a  peaceful  promise  bearing 

To  the  Irish  peasant's  heart.  Anohtmodb. 


158.      THE  O  KAVANAGH. 

The  Saions  had  met,  and  the  banquet  was  spread. 
And  the  wine  in  fleet  circles  the  jubilee  led  ; 
And  the  banners  that  hung  round  the  festal  that  night. 
Seemed  brighter  by  far  than  when  lifted  in  fight. 

In  came  the  O'Kavanagh,  fair  as  the  morn. 

When  earth  to  new  beauty  and  vigor  is  born  : 

They  shrank  from  his  glance,  like  the  waves  from  the  prow. 

For  Nature's  nobility  sat  on  his  brow. 

Attended  alone  by  his  vassal  and  bard — 
No  trumpet  to  herald,  no  clansmen  to  guard — 
He  came  not  attended  by  steed  or  by  steel : 
No  danger  he  knew,  for  no  fear  did  he  feel. 

In  eye  and  on  lip  his  high  confidence  smiled — 
So  proud,  yet  so  knightly — so  gallant,  yet  mild : 
He  moved  like  a  god  through  the  light  of  that  hall, 
And  a  smile,  full  of  courthness,  proffered  to  all. 

"  Come  pledge  us,  lord  chieftain  !  come  pledge  us !"  they  cried ; 
Unsuspectingly  free  to  the  pledge  he  replied  ; 
And  this  was  the  peace-branch  O'Kavanagh  bore — 
'*  The  friendships  to  come,  not  the  feuds  that  are  o'er!" 
19 


434.  SELECTIONS  IN  POETEY. 

But,  minstrel,  why  cometh  a  change  o'er  thy  theme  ? 
Why  sing  of  red  battle — what  dream  dust  thou  dream  t 
Ha  !  "  Treason"  's  the  cry,  and  "  Revenge"  is  the  call. 
As  the  swords  of  the  Saxon  surrounded  the  hall ! 

A  kingdom  for  Angelo's  mind  !  to  portray 

Green  Erin's  undaunted  avenger  that  day ; 

The  far-flashing  sword,  and  the  death-darting  eye, 

Like  some  comet  commissioned  with  wrath  from  the  sky. 

Through  the  ranks  of  the  Saxon  he  hewed  his  red  way-— 
Through  lances,  and  sabres,  and  hostile  array  ; 
And,  mounting  his  charger,  he  left  them  to  tell 
The  tale  of  that  feast,  and  its  bloody  farewell. 

And  now  on  the  Saxons  his  clansmen  advance. 
With  a  shout  from  each  heart,  and  a  soul  in  each  lance  : 
He  rushed,  like  a  storm,  o'er  the  night-covered  heath. 
And  swept  through  their  ranks,  like  the  angel  of  death. 

Then  hurrah !  for  thy  glory,  young  chieftain,  hurrah  ! 
Oh  !  had  we  such  lightning-souled  heroes  to-day, 
Again  would  our  sunburst*  expand  in  the  gale, 
And  Freedom  exult  o'er  the  green  Innisfail ! 

J.  Augustus  ShkAs 


159.     WOMAN  S  SUFFERINGS. 

Warriors  and  statesmen  have  their  meed  of  praise. 

And  what  they  do  or  suffer  men  record  ; 
But  the  long  sacrifice  of  woman's  days 

Passes  without  a  thought,  without  a  word ; 
And  many  a  holy  struggle  for  the  sake 

Of  duties  sternly,  faithfully  fulfilled,— 
For  which  the  anxious  mind  must  watch  and  wake. 

And  the  strong  feelings  of  the  heart  be  stilled, — 
Goes  by  imheeded  as  the  summer  wind. 
And  leaves  no  memory  and  no  trace  behind ! 
Yet,  it  may  be,  more  lofty  courage  dwells 

In  one  meek  heart  which  braves  an  adverse  fate, 
Than  his,  whose  ardent  soul  indignant  swells. 

Warmed  by  the  fight,  or  cheered  through  high  debate, 

•  Tlie  Irish  national  banner. 


MRS.  NOETON.  435 

The  soldier  dies  surrounded  ; — could  he  live 
Alone  to  suffer,  and  alone  to  strive  ? 

Answer,  ye  graves,  whose  suicidal  gloom 
Shows  deeper  horror  than  a  common  tomb  ! 
Who  sleep  within  ?     The  men  who  would  evade 
An  unseen  lot  of  which  they  felt  afraid. 
Embarrassment  of  means,  which  worked  annoy, — 
A  past  remorse, — a  future  blank  of  joy, — 
The  sinful  rashness  of  a  blind  despair, — 
These  were  the  strokes  which  sent  your  victims  there, 

In  many  a  village  churchyard's  simple  grave. 

Where  all  unmarked  the  cypress-branches  wave  ; 

In  many  a  vault  where  Death  could  only  claim 

The  brief  inscription  of  a  woman's  name ; 

Of  different  ranks,  and  different  degrees. 

From  daily  labor  to  a  life  of  ease, 

(From  the  rich  wife  who,  through  the  weary  day, 

Wept  in  her  jewels,  grief's  unceasing  prey. 

To  the  poor  soul  who  trudged  o'er  marsh  and  moor. 

And  with  her  baby  begged  from  door  to  door,) 

Lie  hearts,  which,  ere  they  found  that  last  release. 

Had  known  no  nights  of  rest,  no  days  of  peace ; 

Hearts,  whose  long  struggle  through  unpitied  years 

None  saw  but  He  who  marks  the  mourner's  tears ; 

The  obscurely  noble  !  who  evaded  not 

The  woe  which  He  had  willed  should  be  their  lot, 

But  nerved  themselves  to  bear.  ,^     ,t 

Mrs.  Isorton, 


160.      THE  POWER  OF  DREAMS. 

Strange  is  the  power  of  dreams  !    Who  hath  not  felt, 
When  in  the  morning  light  such  visions  melt. 
How  the  veiled  soul,  though  strugghng  to  be  free. 
Ruled  by  that  deep,  unfathomed  mystery. 
Wakes,  haunted  by  the  thoughts  of  good  or  ill, 
Whose  shadowy  influence  pursues  us  still  ? 

Sometimes  remorse  doth  weigh  our  spirits  down ; 
Some  crime  committed  earns  heaven's  angriest  frown  : 


4:36  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

Some  awful  sin,  in  which  the  tempted  heart 
Hath  scarce,  perhaps,  forborne  its  waking  part. 
Brings  dreams  of  judgment ;  loud  the  thunders  roll. 
The  heavens  shrink  blackened  like  a  flaming  scroll ; 
We  faint,  we  die,  beneath  the  avenging  rod. 
And  vainly  hide  from  our  offended  God. 
For,  oh  !  though  Fancy  change  our  mortal  lot. 
And  rule  our  slumbers.  Conscience  sleepeth  not : 
That  strange,  sad  dial,  by  its  own  true  light. 
Points  to  our  thoughts,  how  dark  soe'er  the  night ; 
Still  by  our  pillow  watchful  guard  it  keeps, 
And  bids  the  sinner  tremble  while  he  sleeps. 

Sometimes,  with  fearful  dangers  doomed  to  cope, 
'Reft  of  each  wild  and  visionary  hope. 
Stabbed  with  a  thousand  wounds,  we  struggle  still. 
The  hand  that  tortures,  powerless  to  kill. 
Sometimes,  'mid  ocean  storms,  in  fearful  strife, 
We  stem  the  wave,  and,  shrieking,  gasp  for  life  ; 
While  crowding  round  us,  faces  rise  and  gleam — 
Some  known  and  loved,  some  pictures  of  our  dream : 
High  on  the  buoyant  waters  wildly  tossed, 
Low  in  its  foaming  caverns  darkly  lost, 
Tliose  flitting  forms  the  dangerous  hour  partake, 
Cling  to  our  aid,  or  suffer  for  our  sake. 
Conscious  of  present  life,  the  slumbering  soul 
Still  floats  us  onward,  as  the  billows  roll, 
Till,  snatched  from  death,  we  seem  to  touch  the  strand, 
Rise  on  the  shoreward  wave,  and  dash  to  land  ! 
Alone  we  come :  the  forms  whose  wild  array 
Gleamed  round  us  while  we  struggled,  fade  away ; 
We  know  not,  reck  not,  who  the  danger  shared, 
But,  vaguely  dreaming,  feel  that  we  are  spared. 

Sometimes  a  grief,  of  fond  affection  born. 
Gnaws  at  our  heart,  and  bids  us  weep  till  morn ; 
Some  anguish,  copied  from  our  waking  fears. 
Wakes  the  eternal  fount  of  human  tears, 
Sends  us  to  watch  some  visioned  bed  of  death, 
Hold  the  faint  hand,  and  catch  the  parting  breath, 
Where  those  we  prized  the  most  and  loved  the  best. 
Seem  darkly  sinking  to  the  grave's  long  rest. 
Lo  !  in  our  arms  they  fade,  they  faint,  they  die, 
Before  our  eyes,  the  funeral  train  sweeps  by ; 


MES.  NOETON.  ^rS' 

We  hear  the  orphan's  sob,  the  widow's  wail — 
O'er  our  dim  senses  woful  thoughts  prevail, 
Till,  with  a  burst  of  grief,  the  spell  we  break. 
And,  weeping  for  th'  imagined  loss,  awake  ! 

Mrs.  Nobtow. 


161.      THE  FALLEN  LEAVES. 

We  stand  among  the  fallen  leaves, 

Young  children  at  our  play, 
And  laugh  to  see  the  yellow  things 

Go  rustling  on  their  way  : 
Right  merrily  we  hunt  them  down. 

The  autumn  winds  and  we, 
Nor  pause  to  gaze  where  snow-drifts  lie. 

Or  sunbeams  gild  the  tree. 
With  dancing  feet  we  leap  along 

Where  withered  boughs  are  strown  ; 
Nor  past  nor  future  checks  our  song — 

The  present  is  our  own. 

We  stand  among  the  fallen  leaves 

In  youth's  enchanted  spring, 
When  Hope  (avIio  wearies  at  the  last) 

First  spreads  her  eagle  wing  : 
We  tread  with  steps  of  conscious  strength 

Beneath  the  leafless  trees. 
And  the  color  kindles  on  our  cheek. 

As  blows  the  winter  breeze  ; 
Wliile,  gazing  towards  the  cold  gray  sky, 

Clouded  with  snow  and  rain, 
We  wish  the  old  year  all  past  by. 

And  the  young  spring  come  again. 

We  stand  among  the  fallen  leaves 

In  manhood's  haughty  prime. 
When  first  our  pausing  hearts  begin  , 

To  love  "  the  olden  time ;" 
And  as  we  gaze,  we  sigh  to  think 

How  many  a  year  hath  passed. 
Since,  'neath  those  cold  and  faded  trees. 

Our  footsteps  wandered  last ; 


4:38  SELECTIONS  IN  POETET. 

And  old  companions — now,  perchance. 

Estranged,  forgot,  or  dead — 
Come  round  us,  as  those  autumn  leaves 

Are  crushed  beneath  our  tread. 

We  stand  among  the  fallen  leaves 

In  our  own  autumn  day. 
And,  tottering  on  with  feeble  steps, 

Pursue  our  cheerless  way. 
We  look  not  back — too  long  ago 

Hath  all  we  loved  been  lost  ; 
*  Nor  forward — for  we  may  not  live 

To  see  our  new  hope  crossed  : 
But  on  we  go  ;  the  sun's  faint  beam 

A  feeble  warmth  imparts  : 
Childhood,  without  its  joy  returns  ; — 

The  present  fills  our  hearts  !  ^^^  ^^^^^^^ 


1G2.      WEEP  NOT  FOR  IIIM    THAT  DIETH. 

Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth. 

For  he  sleeps,  and  is  at  rest ; 
And  the  couch  whereon  he  heth 

Is  the  green  earth's  quiet  breast : 
But  weep  for  him  who  pineth 

On  a  far  land's  hateful  shore, 
Who  wearily  declineth 

Where  ye  see  his  face  no  more ! 

Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth. 

For  friends  are  round  his  bed. 
And  many  a  young  lip  sigheth 

When  they  name  the  early  dead  : 
But  weep  for  him  that  liveth 

Where  none  will  know  or  care, 
When  the  groan  his  faint  heart  giveth 

Is  the  last  sigh  of  despair. 

Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth. 
For  his  strugghng  soul  is  free. 

And  the  world  from  which  it  flieth 
Is  a  world  of  misery ; 


MKS.  NOKTON. — CHAKLES  MACKAY.        439 

But  weep  for  him  that  weareth 

The  captive's  galling  chain  : 
To  the  agony  he  beareth. 

Death  were  but  little  pain. 

Weep  not  for  him  that  dieth, 

For  he  hath  ceased  from  tears, 
And  a  voice  to  his  replieth 

Which  he  hath  not  heard  for  years  ; 
But  weep  for  him  who  weepeth       * 

On  that  cold  land's  cruel  shore  : 
Blest,  blest  is  he  that  sleepeth  ! — 

Weep  for  the  dead  no  more !  ^jj^^  NoRton. 


163.      ADVICE  TO  THE  ASPIRANT  FOR  FAME. 

If  thou  wouldst  win  a  lasting  fame  ; 

If  thou  the  immortal  wreath  wouldst  claim, 

And  make  the  future  bless  thy  name ; 

If  thou  canst  plan  a  noble  deed. 

And  never  flag  till  it  succeed, 

Though  in  the  strife  thy  heart  should  bleed ; 

If  thou  canst  dine  upon  a  crust. 
And  still  hold  on  with  patient  trust, 
Nor  pine  that  Fortune  is  unjust ; 

If  thou  canst  see  with  tranquil*  breast. 
The  knave  or  fool  in  purple  dressed. 
While  thou  must  walk  in  tattered  vest ; 

If  thou  in  darkest  days  canst  find. 
An  inner  brightness  in  thy  mind. 
To  reconcile  thee  to  thy  kind  ; 

Whatever  obstacles  control. 

Thine  hour  will  come ; — go  on,  true  soul !  • 

Thou'lt  win  the  prize,  thou'lt  reach  the  goal. 

If  not,  what  matters  ? — tried  by  fire. 

And  purified  from  low  desire, 

Thy  spirit  shall  but  soar  the  higher. 


440  SELECTIONS  IN  POETKT. 

But,  if  30  bent  on  worldly  fame. 
That  thou  must  gild  thy  living  name. 
And  snatch  the  honors  of  the  game  ; 

If  failure  might  thy  soul  oppress. 
And  fill  thy  veins  with  heaviness, 
And  make  thee  love  thy  kind  the  less  ; 

Pause,  ere  thou  *tempt  the  hard  career — 
Thou'lt  find  the  conflict  too  severe, 
And  heart  will  break  and  brain  will  sear. 

Content  thee  with  a  meaner  lot : 

Go  plough  thy  field,  go  build  thy  cot, 

Nor  sigh  that  thou  must  be  forgot. 

Charles  Mackat, 


DIALOGUES. 


1.      A     QUARREL    SCENE, 

Glenalvon  and  Norval. 

Olenalvon.  His  port  I  love ;  he*s  in  a  proper  mood 
To  chide  the  thunder,  if  at  him  it  roared ! 
Has  Nerval  seen  the  troops  ? 

Norval.  The  setting  sun 
With  yellow  radiance  lightened  all  the  vale  ; 
And  as  the  warriors  moved  each  polished  helm, 
Corslet  or  spear  glanced  back  his  gilded  beams. 
The  hill  they  climbed  ;  and,  halting  at  its  top. 
Of  more  than  mortal  size  towering,  they  seemed 
A  host  angelic  clad  in  burning  arms. 

Glenalvon.  Thou  talk'st  it  well !    No  leader  of  our  host. 
In  sounds  more  lofty  speaks  of  glorious  war. 

Norval.  If  I  shall  e'er  acquire  a  leader's  name. 
My  speech  will  be  less  ardent.     Novelty 
Now  prompts  my  tongue,  and  youthful  admiration 
Vents  itself  freely ;  since  no  part  is  mine 
Of  praise,  pertaining  to  the  great  in  arms. 

Glenalvon.  You  wrong  yourself,  brave  sir !     Your  martial 
deeds 
Have  ranked  you  with  the  great :  but,  mark  me,  Norval ; 
Lord  Randolph's  favor  now  exalts  your  youth 
Above  his  veterans  of  famous  service. 
Let  me  who  know  these  soldiers  counsel  you : 
Give  them  all  honor  ;  seem  not  to  command  ; 
Else  they  will  scarcely  brook  your  late-sprung  power, 
Which  nor  alliance  props,  nor  birth  adorns. 

Norval.  Sir,  I  have  been  accustomed,  all  my  days. 
To  hear  and  speak  the  plain  and  simple  truth  ; 
And  though  I  have  been  told  that  there  are  men 

19* 


442  DIALOGUES. 

Who  borrow  Friendship's  tongue  to  speak  their  scorn, 
Yet,  in  such  language  I  am  httle  skilled. 
Therefore,  I  thank  Glenalvon  for  his  counsel, 
Although  it  sounded  harshly.     Why  remind 
Me  of  my  birth  obscure  ?     Why  slur  my  power 
With  such  contemptuous  terms  ? 

Glenalvon.  I  did  not  mean 
To  gall  your  pride,  which  now  I  see  is  great. 

Norval.  My  pride  ? 

Glenalvon.  Suppress  it,  as  you  wish  to  prosper  ; 
Your  pride's  excessive !  yet,  for  Randolph's  sake, 
I  will  not  leave  you  to  its  rash  direction. 
If  thus  you  swell  and  frown  at  high-bom  men, 
Will  high-born  men  endure  a  shepherd's  scorn  ? 

Norval.  A  shepherd's  scorn  ! 

Glenalvon.  Yes  ; — if  you  presume 
To  bend  on  soldiers  these  disdainful  eyes, 
As  if  you  took  the  measure  of  their  minds, 
And  said,  in  secret,  "  You  are  no  match  for  me," 
What  will  become  of  you  ? 

Norval.  Hast  thou  no  fears  for  thy  presumptuous  self? 

Glenalvon.  Ha ! — dost  thou  threaten  me  ? 

Norval.  Didst  thou  not  hear  ? 

Glenalvon.  Unwillingly,  I  did ;  a  nobler  foe 
Had  not  been  questioned  thus.     But,  such  as  thou ! 

Norval.  Whom  dost  thou  think  me  ? 

Glenalvon.  Norval. 

Norval.  So  I  am ; 
And  who  is  Norval  in  Glenalvon's  eyes  ? 

Glenalvon.  A  peasant's  son, — a  wand'ring  beggar-boy  , 
At  best  no  more,  e'en  if  he  speak  the  truth. 

Norval.  False  as  thou  art,  dost  thou  suspect  my  truth  ? 

Glenalvon.  Thy  truth  ! 
Thou'rt  all  a  lie,  and  false  as  fiends 
Is  the  vain-glorious  tale  thou  told'st  to  Randolph. 

Norval.  If  I  were  chained,  unarmed,  or  bed-rid  old. 
Perhaps  I  might  revile ;  but  as  I  am, 
I  have  no  tongue  to  rail.     The  humble  Norval 
Is  of  a  race  who  strive  not  but  with  deeds ! 
Did  I  not  fear  to  freeze  thy  shallow  valor. 
And  make  thee  sink,  too  soon,  beneath  my  sword, 
I'd  tell  thee what  thoii  art 1  know  thee  well. 

Glenalvon.  Dost  thou  not  know  Glenalvon  born  to  command 
Ten  thousand  slaves  like  thee  ? 


HOME.  443 

Norval.  Villain  ! — no  more  ; — 
Draw,  and  defend  thy  life.     ( They  draw  their  swords)     I  did 

design, 
To  have  defied  thee  in  another  cause ; 
But  Heaven  accelerates  its  vengeance  on  thee. 
Now  for  my  own  and  Lady  Randolph's  wrongs  ! — 

{They  fight) 

{Enter  Lord  Randolph.) 

Lord  Randolph.  Hold  ! — I  command  you  both  ; — 
The  man  that  stirs  makes  me  his  foe. 

Norval.  Another  voice  than  thine 
That  threat  had  vainly  sounded,  noble  Randolph. 

Glenalvon.  Hear  him,  my  lord,  he's  wondrous  condescending : 
Mark  the  humility  of  shepherd  Norval ! 

Norval.  Now  you  may  scoff  in  safety. — 

{Both  sheathe  their  swords.) 

Lord  Randolph.  Speak  not  thus. 
Taunting  each  other  ;  but  unfold  to  me 
The  cause  of  quarrel :  then  I'll  judge  betwixt  you. 

Norval.  Nay,  my  good  lord,  though  I  revere  you  much, 
My  cause  I  plead  not,  nor  demand  your  judgment. 
I  blush  to  speak — I  will  not — cannot  speak 
The  opprobrious  words  that  I  from  him  have  borne. 
To  the  liege  lord  of  my  dear  native  land, 
I  owe  a  subject's  homage  ;  but  even  him, 
And  his  high  arbitration,  I'd  reject ! 
Within  my  bosom  reigns  another  lord, 
Hdlior — sole  judge,  and  umpire  of  itself. 
If  my  free  speech  offend  you,  noble  Randolph,- 
Revoke  your  favors,  and  let  Norval  go 
Hence  as  he  came, — alone — but  not  dishonored. 

Lord  Randolph.  Thus  far  I'll  mediate  with  impartial  voice ; 
The  ancient  foe  of  Caledonia's  land, 
Now  waves  his  banners  o'er  her  frighted  fields. 
Suspend  your  purpose  till  your  country's  arms 
Repel  the  bold  invader ;  then  decide 
The  private  quarrel. 

Glenalvon.  1  agree  to  this 

Norval.  And  I.  {Uxit  Randolph.) 

Glenalvon.  Norval, 
Let  not  our  variance  mar  the  social  hour. 
Nor  wrong  the  hospitahty  of  Randolph  ; 
Nor  frowning  anger,  nor  yet  wrinkled  hate 


444  DIALOGUES. 

Shall  stain  my  countenance.     Smooth  thou  thy  brow, 
Nor  let  our  strife  disturb  the  gentle  dame. 

Norval.  Tliink  not  so  lightly.  Sir,  of  my  resentment  : 
When  we  contend  again,  om*  strife  is  mortal.  ^, 


2.    lociiiel's  warning. 

Wizard.  Lochiel !  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day 
When  the  Lowlands  shall  meet  thee  in  battle  array  f 
For  a  field  of  the  dead  rushes  red  on  my  sight, 
And  the  clans  of  Culloden  are  scattered  in  fight : 
They  rally,  they  bleed,  for  their  kingdom  and  crown  ; 
Woe,  woe,  to  the  riders  that  trample  them  down  I 
Proud  Cumberland  prances,  insulting  the  slain. 
And  their  hoof-beaten  bosoms  are  trod  to  the  plain. 
But  hark  !  through  the  fast-flashing  lightning  of  war. 
What  steed  to  the  desert  flies  frantic  and  far  ? 
'Tis  thine,  0  Glenullin  !  whose  bride  shall  await. 
Like  a  love-lighted  watch-fire,  all  night  at  the  gate. 
A  steed  comes  at  morning  :  no  rider  is  there  ; 
But  its  bridle  is  red  with  the  sign  of  despair. 
Weep,  Albin !  to  death  and  captivity  led  1 
Oh  weep  !  but  thy  tears  cannot  number  the  dead ; 
For  a  merciless  sword  on  Culloden  shall  wave, — 
Culloden  !  that  reeks  with  the  blood  of  the  brave. 

Lochiel.  Go,  preach  to  the  coward,  thou  death-teUing  seer  I 
Or,  if  gory  Culloden  so  dreadful  appear, 
.Draw,  dotard,  around  thy  old  wavering  sight, 
This  mantle,  to  cover  the  phantoms  of  fright. 

Wizard.  Ha !  laugh'st  thou,  Lochiel,  my  vision  to  scorn  ? 
Proud  bird  of  the  mountain,  thy  plume  shall  be  torn  ! 
Say,  rushed  the  bold  eagle  exultingly  forth. 
From  his  home,  in  the  dark-rolling  clouds  of  the  north  ? 
Lo  !  the  death-shot  of  foemen  outspceding,  he  rode 
Companionless,  bearing  destruction  abroad  ; 
But  down  let  him  stoop  from  his  havoc  on  high. 
Ah  !  home  let  him  speed, — for  the  spoiler  is  nigh. 
Why  flames  the  far  summit  ?     Why  shoot  to  the  blast 
Those  embers,  like  stars  from  the  firmament  cast  ? 
'Tis  the  fire  shower  of  ruin,  all  dreadfully  driven 
From  Ixis  eyry,  that  beacons  the  darkness  of  heaven. 


CAlMPIiELL.  445 

0,  crested  Lochiel !  the  peerless  in  might. 

Whose  banners  arise  on  the  battlements'  height, 

Heaven's  fire  is  around  thee,  to  blast  and  to  burn : 

Return  to  thy  dwelling ;  all  lonely,  return  ! 

For  the  blackness  of  ashes  shall  mark  where  it  stood, 

And  a  wild  mother  scream  o'er  her  famishing  brood. 

Lochiel.  False  wizard,  avaunt !     I  have  marshalled  my  clant, 
Their  swords  are  a  thousand,  their  bosoms  are  one  ; 
They  are  true  to  the  last  of  their  blood  and  their  breath, 
And  like  reapers  descend  to  the  harvest  of  death. 
Then  welcome  be  Cumberland's  steed  to  the  shock ! 
Let  him  dash  his  proud  foam  like  a  wave  on  the  rock  1 
But  woe  to  his  kindred,  and  woe  to  his  cause. 
When  Albin  her  claymore  indignantly  draws ; 
When  her  bonneted  chieftains  to  victory  crowd, 
Clanranald  the  dauntless,  and  Moray  the  proud. 
All  plaided  and  plumed  in  their  tartan  array — 

Wizard.  Lochiel,  Lochiel !  beware  of  the  day  ! 
For,  dark  and  despairing,  my  sight  I  may  seal ; 
But  man  cannot  cover  what  God  would  reveal : 
'Tis  the  sunset  of  life  gives  me  mystical  lore. 
And  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before. 
I  tell  thee,  CuUoden's  dread  echoes  shall  ring 
With  the  bloodhounds  that  bark  for  thy  fugitive  king  : 
Lo  !  anointed  by  Heaven  with  the  vials  of  wrath, 
Behold,  where  he  flies  on  his  desolate  path  ! — 
Now,  in  darkness  and  billows,  he  sweeps  from  my  sight : 
Rise  !  rise  !  ye  wild  tempests,  and  cover  his  flight ! 
'Tis  finished.     Their  thunders  are  hushed  on  the  moore : 
CuUoden  is  lost,  and  my  country  deplores  ! 
But  where  is  the  iron-bound  prisoner  1 — Where  ? — 
For  the  red  eye  of  battle  is  shut  in  despair. 
Say,  mounts  he  the  ocean- wave,  banished,  forlorn, 
Like  a  limb  from  his  country  cast  bleeding  and  torn  ? 
Ah  !  no : — for  a  darker  departure  is  near : — 
The  war-drum  is  muffled,  and  black. is  the  bier-; 
His  death-bell  is  tolling  !     O  mercy,  dispel 
Yon  sight,  that  it  freezes  my  spirit  to  tell! — 
Life  flutters  convulsed  in  his  quivering  hmbs, 
And  his  blood-streaming  nostril  in  agony  swims  ! 
Accursed  be  the  fagots  that  blaze  at  his  feet. 
Where  his  heart  shall  be  thrown,  ere  it  ceases  to  beat. 
With  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison  the  gale — 

Lochiel.  Down,  soothless  insulter  !  I  trust  not  the  tale 


446  DIALOGUES. 

For  never  shall  Albia  a  destiny  meet 

So  black  with  dishonor,  so  foul  with  retreat. 

Though  my  perishing  ranks  should  be  strewed  in  their  gore, 

Like  ocean-weeds  heaped  on  the  surf-beaten  shore, 

Lochiel,  untainted  by  flight  or  by  chains. 

While  the  kindling  of  life  in  his  bosom  remains, 

Shall  victor  exult,  or  in  death  be  laid  low, 

With  his  back  to  the  field,  and  his  feet  to  the  foe ! 

And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name. 

Look  proudly  to  Heaven  from  the  death-bed  of  fame. 

Oampbkll. 


3.     A  SCENE  FROM  WILLIAM  TELL. 

Gesler,  Tell,  and  Albert,  Verner,  Sarnem,  and  Soldiers. 

Sarnem.  Down,  slave ! 
Behold  the  governor.     Down  !  down  !  and  beg 
For  mercy ! 

Gesler.  Does  he  hear  ? — Thy  name  ? 

Tell.  My  name  ? 
It  matters  not  to  keep  it  from  thee  now : 
My  name  is  Tell. 

Ges.  Tell!— William  Tell? 

Tell.  The  same. 

Ges.  What !  he  so  famed  *bove  all  his  countrymen 
For  guiding  o'er  the  stormy  lake  the  boat ! 
And  such  a  master  of  his  bow,  'tis  said 
His  arrows  never  miss  ! — (Aside.)  Indeed !     I'll  take 
Exquisite  vengeance  ! — Mark !  I'll  spare  thy  life, 
Thy  boy's  too.     ^oth.  of  you  are  free, — on  one 
Condition. 

Tell.  Name  it; 

Ges.  I  would  see  you  mase 
A  trial  of  your  skill  with  that  same  bow 
You  shoot  so  well  with. 

Tell.  Name  the  trial  you 
Would  have  me  make.     {Tell  looks  on  Albert.) 

Ges.  You  look  upon  your  boy, 
A-s  though  instinctively  you  guessed  it. 

Tell.  Look 


o^.  S.  KNOWLES.  447 

Upon  my  boy ! — What  mean  you  ?     Look  upon 
My  boy,  as  though  I  guessed  it !     Guessed  the  trial 
You'd  have  me  make  !     Guessed  it 
Instinctively  I     You  do  not  mean — No — no — 
You  would  not  have  me  make  a  trial  of 
My  skill  upon  my  child  !     Impossible  ! 
I  do  not  guess  your  meaning. 

Ges.  I  would  see 
Thee  hit  an  apple  at  the  distance  of 
A  hundred  paces. 

Tell.  Is  my  boy  to  hold  it  ? 
Ges.  No. 

Tell.  No  ! — I'll  send  the  arrow  through  the  core  1 
Ges.  It  is  to  rest  upon  his  head. 
Tell.  Great  Heaven, 
Thou  hear'st  him ! 

Ges.  Thou  dost  hear  the  choice  I  give —  ^ 

Such  trial  of  the  skill  thou'rt  master  of. 
Or  death  to  both  of  yoii,  not  otherwise 
To  be  escaped. 
Tell.  O,  monster ! 
Ges.  Wilt  thou  do  it? 
Alh.  He  will !  he  will ! 
Tell.  Ferocious  monster  !     Make 
A  father  murder  his  own  child  ! 

Ges.  Take  off 
His  chains,  if  he  consents. 
■     Tell  With  his  own  hand  ! 
Ges.  Does  he  consent  ? 
Alb.  He  does. 

(Gesler  signs  to  his  Officers,  who  proceed  to  take  off 
TelVs  chains,   Tell  all  the  while  unconscious  of 
what  they  do.) 
Tell.  With  his  own  hand  ! 
Murder  his  child  with  his  own  hand ! 
The  hand  I've  led  him,  when  an  infant,  by ! 
{His  chains  fall  off.)     What's  that  you 
Have  done  to  me  ?     ( To  the  Guard.) 
Villains  !  put  on  my  chains  again. 

My  hands 
Are  free  from  blood,  and  have  no  gust  for  it, 
That  they  should  drink  my  child's  ! — 

I'll  not 
Murder  my  boy  for  Gesler. 


448  DIALOGUES. 

Alb.  Father— father ! 
You  will  not  hit  me,  father ! 

Ges.  Dost  thou  consent  ? 

Tell.  Give  me  my  bow  and  quiver. 

Ges.  For  what  ? 

Tell.  To  shoot  my  boy  ! 

Alb.  No,  father,  no  ! 
To  save  me  ! — You'll  be  sure  to  hit  the  apple. 
Will  you  not  save  me,  father  ? 

Tell.  Lead  me  forth, — 
I'll  make  the  trial ! 

Alb.  Thank  you! 

Tell.  Thank  me!— Do 
You  know  for  what  ? — I  will  not  make  the  trial, 
To  take  him  to  his  mother  in  my  arms, 
And  lay  him  down  a  corse  before  her ! 

Ges.  Then 
He  dies  this  moment ;  and  you  certainly 
Do  murder  him,  whose  life  you  have  a  chance 
To  save,  and  will  not  use  it. 

Tell.  Well— I'll  do  it ! 
I'll  make  the  trial. 

Alb.  Father! 

Tell.  Speak  not  to  me : 
Let  me  not  hear  thy  voice — thou  must  be  dumb  ; 
And  so  should  all  things  be : — earth  should  be  dumb 
And  heaven, — unless  its  thunders  muttered  at 
The  deed,  and  sent  a  bolt  to  stop  it !     Give  me 
My  bow  and  quiver  ! 

Ges.  That  is  your  ground. — Now  shall  they  measure  thence 
A  hundred  paces.     Take  the  distance. 

Tell.  Is 
The  line  a  true  one  ? 

Ges.  True  or  not,  what  is't 
To  thee  ? 

Tell.  What  is't  to  me  ?     A  little  thing, 
A  very  little  thing  : — a  yard  or  two 
Is  nothing  here  or  there,  were  it  a  wolf 
I  shot  at  1 

Ges.  Be  thankful,  slave, 
Our  grace  accords  thee  life  on  any  terms. 

Tell.  I  will  be  thankful,  Gesler  !— Villain,  stop 
You  measure  to  the  sun,     {To  the  Attendant.) 

Ges.  And  what  of  that  ? 


J.  S.  KNOWLES.  449 

What  matter,  whether  to  or  from  the  sun  ? 

Tell.  I'd  have  it  at  my  back. — The  sun  should  shine 
Upon  the  mark,  and  not  on  him  that  shoots. 
I  cannot  see  to  shoot  against  the  sun  : — 
I  will  not  shoot  against  the  sun  ! 

Ges.  Give  him  his  way  ! — Thou  hast  cause  to  bless  my  mercy. 

Tell.  I  shall  remember  it.     I'd  like  to  see 
The  apple  I'm  about  to  shoot  at. 

Ges.  Show  me 
The  basket. — There  !     [Gives  a  very  small  apple.) 

Tell.  You've  picked  the  smallest  one.  ^ 

Ges.  I  know  I  have. 

Tell.  Oh  !  do  you  ?— But  you  see 
The  color  oft  is  dark — I'd  have  it  light. 
To  see  it  better. 

Ges.  Take  it  as  it  is  : 
Thy  skill  will  be  the  greater  if  thou  hitt'st  it. 

Tell.  True — true, — I  didn't  think  of  that : — I  wonder 
I  did  not  not  think  of  that. — Give  me  some  chance 
To  save  my  boy  !     ( Throws  away  tlie  apple.)     I  will  not  murdei 

him. 
If  I  can  help  it, — for  the  honor  of 
The  form  thou  wear'st,  if  all  the  heart  is  gone. 

Ges.  Well !  choose  thyself. 

[Hands  a  basket  of  apples. — Tell  takes  07ie.)  , 

Tell.  Have  I  a  friend  among 
The  lookers  on  ? 

Verner.  Here,  Tell ! 

Tell.  I  thank  thee,  Verner  !— Take  the  boy 
And  set  him,  Verner,  with  his  back  to  me. — 
Set  him  upon  his  knees  ; — and  place  this  apple 
Upon  his  head,  so  that  the  stem  may  front  me — 
Thus,  Verner  ;  charge  him  to  keep  steady, — tell  him 
I'll  hit  the  apple  ! — Verner,  do  all  this 
More  briefly  than  I  tell  it  thee. 

Ver.  Come,  Albert !     [Leading  him  out.) 

Alb.  May  I  not  speak  with  him  before  I  go  ? 

Ver.  No— 

Alb.  I  would  only  kiss  his  hand — 

Ver.  You  must  not. 

Alb.  I  must ! — I  cannot  go  from  him  without ! 

Ver.  It  is  his  will  you  should. 

Alb.  His  will,  is  it  ? 
I  am  content,  then, — come. 


450  DIALOGUES. 

Tell.  My  boy !     [Holding  out  his  anns  to  him.) 

Alb.  My  father  !     (Running  into  TelVs  arms.) 

Tell.  If  thou  canst  bear  it,  should  not  I  ? — Go  now, 
My  son — and  keep  in  mind  that  I  can  shoot. — 
Go,  boy — be  thou  but  steady,  I  will  hit 
The  apple.     Go  : — God  bless  thee  ! — Go. 
My  bow  !     (Sarnem  gives  the  bow.) 
Thou  wilt  not  fail  thy  master,  wilt  thou  ? — Thou 
Hast  never  failed  him  yet,  old  servant. — No, 
I'm  sure  of  thee — I  know  thy  honesty  ; 

Thou'rt  stanch — stanch  : — I'd  deserve  to  find  thee  treacherous. 
Could  I  suspect  thee  so.     Come,  I  will  stake 
My  all  upon  thee  !     Let  me  see  my  quiver.     (Retires.) 

Oes.  Give  him  a  single  arrow.     (To  an  Attendant.) 

Tell.  Is't  so  you  pick  an  arrow,  friend  ? 
The  point,  you  see,  is  bent,  the  feather  jagged  ; 
That's  all  the  use  'tis  fit  for.     (Breaks  it.) 

Ges.  Let  him  have 
Another.     (Tell  examines  it.) 

Tell.  Why,  'tis  better  than  the  first. 
But  yet  not  good  enough  for  such  an  aim 
As  I'm  to  take.     'Tis  heavy  in  the  shaft : 
I'll  not  shoot  with  it!     (Throws  it  away.)    Let  me  see  my 

quiver. 
Bring  it !  'tis  not  one  arrow  in  a  dozen 
I'd  take  to  shoot  with  at  a  dove,  much  less 
A  dove  like  that ! — ^What  is't  you  fear  ?     I'm  but 
A  naked  man,  a  wretched  naked  man  ! 
Your  helpless  thrall,  alone  in  the  midst  of  you. 
With  every  one  of  you  a  weapon  in 
His  hand.     What  can  I  do  in  such  a  strait 
With  all  the  arrows  in  that  quiver  ? — Come, 
Will  you  give  it  me  or  not  ? 

Ges.  It  matters  not. 
Show  him  the  quiver. 

(Tell  kneels  and  picks  out  an  arrow  then  secretes  om 
in  his  vest.) 

Tell.  See  if  the  boy  is  ready. 

Ver.  He  is. 

Tell.  I'm  ready  too  ! — Keep  silence,  for  (  To  the  people.) 

Heaven's  sake  !  and  do  not  stir,  and  let  me  have 
Your  prayers — your  prayers  : — and  be  my  witnesses, 
That  if  his  life's  in  peril  from  my  hand, 
'Tis  only  for  the  chance  of  saving  it. 


J.  S.  KNOWLES. — MATIIEWS.  451 

Now,  friends,  for  mercy's  sake,  keep  motionless 
And  silent ! 

{Tell  shoots ;  and  a  shout  of  exultation  hursts  from 
the  crowd.) 
Ver.  {Rushing  in  ivith  Albert.)     Thy  boy  is  safe  ;  no  liair  of 

him  is  touched ! 
Alb.  Father,  I'm  safe ! — your  Albert's  safe  !  Dear  father, 
Speak  to  me  !  speak  to  me  ! 

Ver.  He  cannot,  boy ! 
Open  his  vest, 
And  give  him  air. 

(Albert  opens  his  father^ s  vest,  and  an  arrow  drops  ; 
Tell  starts,  fixes  his  eyes  on  Albert,  and  clasps  him 
to  his  breast.) 
Tell.  My  boy  !  my  boy  ! 
Gcs.  For  what 
Hid  you  that  arrow  in  your  breast  ?     Speak,  slave  ! 

Tell.  To  kill  thee,  tyrant,  had  I  slain  my  boy  ! 
Liberty 

Would  at  thy  downfall  shout  from  every  peak  ! 
My  country  then  were  free  ! 

J.  S.  Knowles. 


4.      GOODY  GRIM  V.  LAPSTONE. 

(In  representing  this  selection  as  a  dialogue,  the  one  who  personates  the  Judge  can  de» 
liver  the  introduction  and  conclusion.) 

Inti^oduction.  {Delivered  standing.)  What  a  profound  study 
is  THE  LAW  !  and  how  difficult  to  fathom !  Well,  let  us  con- 
sider the  law,  for  our  laws  are  very  considerable,  both  in  bulk 
and  numbers,  according  as  the  statutes  declare ;  considerandi, 
considerando,  considerandum,  and  are  not  to  be  meddled  witli 
by  those  who  don't  understand  them. 

Law,  always  expressing  itself  with  true  grammatical  precision, 
never  confounding  moods,  cases,  or  genders,  except,  indeed,  when 
a  woman  happens  accidentally  to  be  slain,  there  a  verdict  is  al- 
ways brought  in  manslaughter.  The  essence  of  the  laAV  is  al- 
tercation, for  the  law  can  altercate,  fulminate,  deprecate,  irritate, 
and  go  on  at  any  rate.  "  Your  son  follows  the  law,  I  think,  sir 
Thomas  ?"  "  Yes,  madam ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  will  never  over- 
take it :  a  man  following  the  law  is  like  two  boys  running  round 
1  table  ;  he  follows  the  law,  and  the  law  follows  him.  How- 
ever, if  you  take  away  the  whereofs,  whereases,  wherefores,  and 


4:52  DIALOGUES. 

notwithstandings,  the  whole  mystery  vanishes :  it  is  then  plain 
and  simple."  Now,  the  quintessence  of  the  law  has,  according 
to  its  name,  five  parts.  The  first  is  the  beginning,  or  incipien- 
dum ;  the  second,  the  uncertainty,  or  duhitandum ;  the  third, 
delay,  or  puzzleendum  ;  fourthly,  replication  without  endum  ; 
and,  fifthly,  monstrum  et  hoverendum  :  all  which  is  clearly  ex- 
emplified in  the  following  case — Goody  Grim  against  Lapstone. 
This  trial  is  as  follows  : — Goody  Grim  inhabits  an  almshouse, 
No.  2  ;  Will  Lapstone,  a  superannuated  cobbler,  inhabits  No. 
3  ;  and  a  certain  Jew  peddler,  who  happened  to  pass  through 
the  town  where  those  almshouses  are  situated,  could  only  think 
of  No.  One.  Goody  Grim  was  in  the  act  of  killing  one  of  her 
own  proper  pigs,  but  the  animal,  disliking  the  ceremony,  burst 
from  her  hold,  ran  through  the  semicircular  legs  of  the  afore- 
said Jew,  knocked  him  in  the  mud,  ran  back  to  Will  Lap- 
stone's,  the  cobbler,  upset  a  quart  bottle  full  of  gin,  belonging 
to  the  said  Lapstone,  and  took  refuge  in  the  cobbler's  state-bed. 

The  parties  being,  of  course,  in  the  most  opulent  circum- 
stances, consulted  counsel  learned  in  the  law.  The  result  was, 
that  Goody  Grim  was  determined  lo  bring  an  action  against 
Lapstone  for  the  loss  of  her  pig  with  a  curly  tail ;  and  Lapstone 
to  bring  an  action  against  Goody  Grim,  for  the  loss  of  a  quart 
bottle  full  of  Hollands  gin ;  and  Mordecai  to  bring  an  action 
against  them  both,  for  the  loss  of  a  tee-totum  that  fell  out  of 
his  pocket  in  the  rencontre.  They  all  delivered  their  briefs  to 
counsel,  before  it  was  considered  they  were  all  parties  and  no 
witnesses.  But  Goody  Grim,  like  a  wise  old  lady  as  she  is, 
now  changed  her  battery,  and  is  determined  to  bring  an  action 
against  Lapstone,  and  bind  over  Mordecai  as  an  evidence. 

The  indictment  sets  iovih:  {reads  from  a  paper)  "that  he,  Lap- 
stone, not  having  the  fear  of  the  assizes  before  his  eyes,  but 
being  moved  by  pig,  and  instigated  by  pruinsence,  d:d,  on  the 
first  day  of  April,  a  day  sacred  in  the  annals  of  the  law,  steal, 
pocket,  hide,  and  crib  divers,  that  is  to  say,  five  hundred  hogs, 
sows,  boars,  pigs,  and  porkers,  with  curly  tails,  and  did  secrete 
the  said  five  hundred  hogs,  sows,  boars,  pigs,  and  porkers,  with 
curly  tails,  in  said  Lapstone's  bed,  against  the  peace  of  our  Lord 
the  King,  his  crown  and  dignity." 

Mordecai  will  be  examined  by  Counsellor  Puzzle.  {The  Judge 
deats  himself.) 

Puz.  Well,  sir,  what  are  you  ? 

Mor.  I  sells  old  clos,  and  sealing-wax,  and  puckles. 

Puz.  I  did  not  ask  you  what  you  sold :  I  ask  you  what  you 
are? 


MATHEWS.  453 

Mor.  I  am  about  five  and  forty. 

Puz.  I  did  not  ask  your  age  :  I  ask  you  what  you  are  ? 

Mor.  I  am  a  Jew. 

Puz.  Why  couldn't  you  tell  me  that  at  first  ?  Well,  then, 
if  you  are  a  Jew,  tell  me  what  you  know  of  this  affair. 

Mor.  As  I  vas  a  valking  along — 

Puz.  Man,  I  didn't  want  to  know  where  you  were  walking. 

Mor.  Vel,  as  I  vas  a  valking  along — 

Puz.  So  you  will  walk  along  in  spite  of  all  that  can  be  said. 

Mor.  Pless  ma  heart,  you  frighten  me  out  of  my  vits — as  I 
vas  valking  along,  I  seed  de  unclean  animal  coming  towards  me, 
and  so  says  I — Oh  !  Father  AbraJiam,  says  I — 

Puz.  Father  Abraham  is  no  evidence. 

Mor.  You  must  let  me  tell  my  story  my  own  vay,  pr  I  can- 
not tell  it  at  all.  As  I  vas  valking  along,  I  seed  de  unclean  an- 
imal coming  towards  me.  Oh,  Father  Abraham,  said  I,  here 
comes  de  unclean  animal  towards  me,  and  he  runn'd  between 
my  legs,  and  upset  me  in  te  mut. 

Puz.  Now,  do  you  mean  to  say,  upon  your  oath,  that  that 
little  animal  had  the  power  to  upset  you  in  the  mud  ? 

Mor.  I  vill  take  my  oath  dat  he  upshet  me  in  te  mut. 

Puz.  And  pray,  sir,  on  what  side  did  you  fall  ? 

Mor.  On  te  mutty  side. 

Puz.  I  mean,  on  which  of  your  own  sides  did  you  fall  ? 

Mor.  I  fell  on  my  left  side. 

Puz.  Now,  on  your  oath,  was  it  your  left  side  ? 

Mor.  I  vill  take  my  oath  it  vas  my  left  side. 

Puz.  And  pray  what  did  you  do  when  you  fell  down  ? 

Mor.  I  got  up  again  as  fast  as  I  could. 

Puz   Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  whether  the  pig  had  a  curly  tail  ? 

Mor.  I  vill  take  ma  oath  his  tail  was  so  curly  as  my  peerd. 

Puz.  And  pray  where  was  you  going  when  this  happened  ? 

Mor.  I  vas  going  to  the  sign  of  de  Cock  and  Pottle. 

Puz.  Now,  on  your  oath,  what  had  a  cock  to  do  with  a 
\)ottle  ? 

Mor.  I  don't  know ;  only  it  vas  the  sign  of  de  house.  And 
all  more  vat  I  know  was,  dat  I  lose  an  ivory  tee-totum  out  of  ma 
pocket. 

Puz.  Oh,  you  lost  a  tee-totum,  did  you  ?  I  thought  we 
should  bring  you  to  something  at  last.  My  Lord,  I  beg  leave 
to  take  an  exception  to  this  man's  evidence  !  he  does  not  come 
into  court  with  clean  hands. 

Mor.  How  te  devil  should  I,  when  I  have  been  polishing  ma 
goods  all  morning. 


454  DIALOGUES. 

Puz.  Now,  my  Lord,  your  Lordship  is  aware  that  tee-totum 
is  derived  from  the  Latin  terms  of  te  and  tutum,  which  means, 
"  Keep  yourself  safe."  And  this  man,  but  for  my  sagacity,  ob- 
servation, and  so  forth,  would  have  kept  himself  safe  ;  but  now 
he  has,  as  the  learned  Lord  Verulam  expresses  it,  **  let  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag." 

Mor.  I  vill  take  ma  oath  **  I  had  no  cat  in  my  bag." 

Puz.  My  Lord,  by  his  own  confession  he  was  about  to  vend 
a  tee-totum.  Now,  my  Lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it  is 
my  duty  to  point  out  to  you  that  a  tee-totum  is  an  unlawful  ma- 
chine, made  of  ivory,  with  letters  printed  upon  it,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  gambling.  Now  your  Lordship  knows  the  act  com- 
monly known  by  the  name  of  "  Little  go  Act,"  expressly  forbids 
all  games  of  chance  whatever,  whether  put,  whist,  marbles,  swabs, 
tee-totum,  churck-farthing,  dumps,  or  what  not.  And,  there- 
fore, I  do  contend  that  the  man's  evidence  is  contra  bonos  mores, 
and  he  is  consequently  non  compos  testimonce. 

J^dge.  Counsellor  Botherem  will  now  proceed. 

Both.  My  Lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  my  learned  friend 
Puzzle  has,  in  a  most  facetious  manner,  endeavored  to  cast  a 
slur  on  the  highly  honorable  evidence  of  the  Jew  merchant. 
And  I  do  contend  that  he  who  buys  and  sells  is  h<ma  fide  in- 
ducted into  all  the  mysteries  of  merchandise  ;  ergo,  he  who  mer- 
^chandises  is,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  merchant.  My  learned 
friend,  in  the  twistings  and  turnings  of  his  argument  in  hand- 
ling the  tee-totum,  can  only  be  called  obiter  dictum  ;  he  is  play- 
ing, my  Lord,  a  losing  game.  Gentlemen,  he  has  told  you  the 
origin,  use,  and  abuse  of  the  tee-totum  ;  but,  gentlemen,  he  has 
forgot  to  tell  you  what  that  great  luminary  of  the  law,  the  late 
learned  Coke,  has  said  on  the  subject,  in  a  case  exactly  similar 
.  to  this,  in  the  234th  foho  volume  of  the  Abridgment  of  the 
Statutes,  page  1349,  where  he  thus  lays  down  the  law  in  the 
case  of  Hazard  versus  Blacklegs :  "  Gamblendum  consists f,  enac- 
tum  gamblendi,  sed  non  evendum  macheni  placendi.^'  My  Lord, 
I  beg  leave  to  say  that  if  I  prove  my  client  was  in  the  act  of 
vending,  and  not  playing  with  the  said  instrument,  the  tee- 
totum, I  humbly  presume  that  all  my  learned  friend  has  said 
will  come  to  the  ground. 

Judge.  Certainly,  brother  Botherem,  there's  no  doubt  the 
learned  Sergean*.  is  incorrect.  The  law  does  not  put  a  man  ex* 
tralegium  for  merely  spinning  a  tee-totum. 

Both.  My  Lord,  one  of  the  witnesses  has  owned  that  the  pig 
had  a  curly  tail.  Now,  my  Lord,  I  presume  if  I  prove  the  pig 
had  a  straight  tail,  I  consider  the  objection  must  be  fatal. 


MATHEWS. IIAN^^AII  MOKE.  455 

Judge.  Certainly ;  order  the  pig  into  court. — The  pig  being 
produced,  upon  examination  is  found  to  have  a  straight  tail. 

In  summing  up  the  evidence,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  it  is 
wholly  unnecessary  to  recapitulate ;  for  the  removal  of  this  ob- 
jection removes  all  ground  of  action.  And  notwithstanding 
the  ancient  statute,  which  says  Serium  pigum  et  boreum  pigum, 
et  vendi  curium  tailum,  there  is  an  irrefragable  proof,  by  ocular 
demonstration,  that  Goody  Grim's  grunter  had  a  straight  tail, 
and  therefore  the  prisoner  must  be  acquitted.  And  really,  gen- 
tlemen, if  the  time  of  the  court  is  to  be  taken  up  with  these 
frivolous  actions,  the  designs  of  justice  will  be  entirely  frustrated ; 
and  the  attorney  who  recommends  this  action  should  be  pun- 
ished, not  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  with  the  utmost  rigor  and 
severity  of  the  law. 

Conclusion.  {Delivered  standing.)  This  affair  is  thrown  into 
Chancery,  and  it  is  expected  it  will  he  settled  about  the  end  of 
the  year  1954.  Mathews. 


5.      DAVID  AND  GO  LI  AH. 

Goliah.  Where  is  the  mighty  man  of  war,  who  dares 
Accept  the  challenge  of  Phihstia's  chief  ? 
What  victor-king,  what  general  drenched  in  blood. 
Claims  this  high  privilege  ?     What  are  his  rights  ? 
What  proud  credentials  does  the  boaster  bring 
To  prove  his  claim  ?     What  cities  laid  in  ashes. 
What  ruined  provinces,  what  slaughtered  realms, 
What  heads  of  heroes,  or  what  hearts  of  kings. 
In  battle  killed,  or  at  his  altars  slain, 
Has  he  to  boast  ?     Is  his  bright  armory 
Thick-set  with  spears,  and  swords,  and  coats  of  mail 
Of  vanquished  nations,  by  his  single  arm 
Subdued  ?     Where  is  the  mortal  man  so  bold. 
So  much  a  wretch,  so  out  of  love  with  life. 
To  dare  the  weight  of  this  uplifted  spear  ? 

Come,  advance ! 
Phihstia's  gods  to  Israel's.     Sound,  my  herald, 
Sound  for  the  battle  straight ! 

David.  Behold  thy  foe  ! 

Gol.  I  see  him  not. 

Dav.  Behold  him  here ! 


4-56  DIALOGUES. 

Gol.  Say,  where  ? 
Direct  my  sight.     I  do  not  war  with  boys. 

Dav.  I  stand  prepared  ;  thy  single  arm  to  mine. 

Gol,  Why,  this  is  mockery,  minion !  it  may  chance 
To  cost  thee  dear.     Sport  not  with  things  above  thee  ; 
But  tell  me  who,  of  all  this  numerous  host, 
Expects  his  death  from  me  ?     Which  is  the  man, 
Whom  Israel  sends  to  meet  my  bold  defiance  ? 

Dav.  The  election  of  my  sovereign  falls  on  me. 

Gol.  On  thee  !  on  thee  !  by  Dagon,  'tis  too  much ! 
Thou  curled  minion  !  thou  a  nation's  champion  ! 
'Twould  move  my  mirth  at  any  other  time ; 
But  trifling's  out  of  tune.     Begone,  light  boy  ! 
And  tempt  me  not  too  far. 

Dav.  I  do  defy  thee, 
Thou  foul  idolater  !     Hast  thou  not  scorned 
The  armies  of  the  living  God  I  serve  ? 
By  me  he  will  avenge  upon  thy  head 
Thy  nation's  sins  and  thine.     Armed  with  his  name. 
Unshrinking,  I  dare  meet  the  stoutest  foe 
That  ever  bathed  his  hostile  spear  in  blood. 

Gol,  Indeed  !  'tis  wondrous  well !     Now,  by  my  gods ! 
The  stripling  plays  the  orator !     Vain  boy  ! 
Keep  close  to  that  same  bloodless  war  of  words. 
And  thou  shalt  still  be  safe.     Tongue-valiant  warrior ! 
Where  is  thy  sylvan  crook,  with  garlands  hung, 
Of  idle  field-flowers  ?     Where  thy  wanton  harp,  '" 

Thou  dainty-fingered  hero  ? 

Now  will  I  meet  thee. 
Thou  insect  warrior !  since  thou  darest  me  thus  ! 
Already  I  behold  thy  mangled  limbs, 
Dissevered  each  from  each,  ere  long  to  feed 
The  fierce,  blood-snufiing  vulture.     Mark  me  well ! 
Around  my  spear  I'll  twist  thy  shining  locks. 
And  toss  in  air  thy  head  all  gashed  with  wounds. 

Dav.  Ha  !  say'st  thou  so  ?  Come  on,  then !  Mark  us  well 
Thou  comest  to  me  with  sword,  and  spear,  and  shield ! 
In  the  dread  name  of  Israel's  God,  I  come ; 
The  living  Lord  of  Hosts,  whom  thou  defiest ! 
Yet  though  no  shield  I  bring ;  no  arms,  except 
These  five  smooth  stones  I  gathered  from  the  brook. 
With  such  a  simple  sling  as  shepherds  use ; 
Yet  all  exposed,  defenceless  as  I  am, 
The  God  I  serve  shall  give  thee  up  a  prey 


HANNAH  MOKE. MUKl'HY.  457 

To  my  victorious  arm.     This  day  I  mean 
To  make  the  uncircumcised  tribes  confess 
There  is  a  God  in  Israel.     I  will  give  thee, 
Spite  of  thjT-  vaunted  strength  and  giant  bulk, 
To  glut  the  carrion  kites.     Nor  thee  alone  ; 
The  mangled  carcasses  of  your  thick  hosts 
Shall  spread  the  plains  of  Elah ;  till  Philistia, 
Through  all  her  trembling  tents  and  flying  bands. 
Shall  own  that  Judah's  God  is  God  indeed  I 
I  dare  thee  to  the  trial ! 

Got.  Follow  me. 
In  this  good  spear  I  trust, 

Dav.  I  trust  in  heaven  ! 
The  God  of  battles  stimulates  my  arm. 
And  fires  my  soul  with  ardor  not  its  own. 

Hannah  Mork. 


J 


6.      THE  INVALID  AND  THE  POLITICIAN. 
(Enter  Feeble,  in  liis  night-gown.) 

Quidnunc  (without).  Hold  your  tongue,  you  foolish  fellow ; 
he'll  be  glad  to  see  me.     Brother  Feeble  !  brother  Feeble  ! 

Feeble.  I  was  just  going  to  bed.  Bless  my  heart,  what  can 
this  man  want  ?  I  know  his  voice.  I  hope  no  new  misfortune 
brings  him  at  this  hour.     {Enter  Quid.) 

Quid.  Brother  Feeble,  I  give  you  joy !  the  nabob's  demol- 
ished.    Hurrah ! 

Feeh.  Lack-a-day,  Mr.  Quidnunc  !  how  can  you  serve  me 
thus? 

Quid.  Siiraja  Dowla  is  no  more  !     Hurrah ! 

Feeb.  Poor  man !  he's  stark,  staring  mad. 

Quid.  Our  men  diverted  themselves  with  killing  their  bul- 
locks and  their  camels,  till  they  dislodged  the  enemy  from  the 
sotagon,  and  the  counterscarp,  and  the  bungalow — 

Feeb.  I'll  hear  the  rest  to-morrow  mornipg.  Oh  !  I'm  ready 
to  die  ! 

Quid.  Odds-heart,  man,  be  of  good  cheer  !  The  new  nabob, 
Jaffer  Alley  Cawn,  has  acceded  to  a  treaty ;  and  the  English 
company  got  all  their  rights  in  the  Phiemad  and  the  Fushbul- 
hoornons. 

20 


458  DIALOGUES. 

Feeh.  But,  dear  heart,  Mr.  Quidnunc,  why  am  I  to  be  dis- 
turbed for  this  ? 

Quid.  We  had  but  two  seapoys  killed,  three  chokeys,  foui 
gaul-walls,  and  two  zemindars.     Hurrah ! 

Feeh.  Would  not  to-morrow  morning  do  as  well  for  this  ? 

Quid.  Light  up  your  windows,  man ! — light  up  your  win- 
dows !     Chandernagore  is  taken !     Hurrah ! 

Feeh.  Well,  well !  I'm  glad  of  it.     Good  night.     (Going.) 

Quid.  Here — here's  the  "  Gazette." 

Feeh.  Oh,  I  shall  certainly  faint !     {Sits  down.) 

Quid.  Ay,  ay,  sit  down,  and  I'll  read  it  to  you.  {Begins  to 
read.  Feehle  moves  away.)  Nay,  don't  run  away  :  I've  more 
news  to  tell  you.  There's  an  account  from  Williamsburgh,  in 
America.     The  superintendent  of  Indian  affairs— 

Feeh.  Dear  sir  !  dear  sir  !     {Avoiding  him.) 

Quid.  He  has  settled  matters  with  the  Cherokees —  {Follow- 
ing him.) 

Feeh.  Enough,  enough  !     {Moving  away.) 

Quid.  In  the  same  manner  he  did  before  with  the  Catawbas — 
{Following  him.) 

Feeh.  Well,  well ! — your  servant.     {Moving  off.) 

Quid.  So  that  the  white  inhabitants —     {Following  him.) 

Feeh.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  be  a  quiet  inhabitant  of  my 
own  house. 

Quid.  So  that  the  white  inhabitants  will  now  be  secured  by 
the  Cherokees  and  Catawbas — 

Feeh.  You  better  go  home,  and  think  of  appearing  before 
the  commissioners. 

Quid.  Go  home  !  No,  no  !  I'll  go  and  talk  the  matter  over 
at  our  coffee-house.     {Going.) 

Feeh.  Do  so,  do  so  ! 

Quid,  {turning  hack).  I  had  a  dispute  about  the  balance  of 
power.     Pray,  now,  can  you  tell — 

Feeh.  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter. 

Quid.  Well,  another  time  will  do  for  that.  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  say  about  that.  {Going — returns.)  Right !  I  had  like 
to  have  forgot.     Th'ere's  an  erratum  in  the  last  "  Gazette." 

Feeh.  With  all  my  heart. 

Quid.  Page  3,  1st  col.,  1st  and  3d  lines,  for  hombs  read 
booms. 

Feeh.  Read  what  you  will. 

Quid.  Nay,  but  that  alters  the  sense,  you  know.  Well,  now, 
your  servant.     If  I  hear  any  more  news,  I'll  come  and  tell  yoiL 

Feeh.  For  heaven's  sake,  no  more  ! 


MURPHY.  459 

Quid.  I'll  be  with  you  before  you're  out  of  your  first  sleep. 
Feeb.  Good  night,  good  night !  {Hurries  off.) 
Quid,  [screaming  after  him).  I  forgot  to  tell  you — the  .em- 
peror of  Morocco  is  dead.  So  now,  I  have  made  him  happy. 
I'll  go  and  knock  up  my  friend  Razor,  and  make  him  happy, 
too ;  and  then  I'll  go  and  see  if  anybody  is  up  at  the  coffee- 
house, and  make  them  all  happy  there,  too.  Murphy. 


Y.      THE  LAWYER  AND  THE  POLITICIAN. 

Quidnunc  and  Codicil. 

Cod.  Mr.  Quidnunc,  your  servant.  The  door  was  open ;  and 
I  entered  upon  the  premises.     I'm  just  come  from  the  hall. 

Quid.  'Sbodkins,  this  man  has  now  come  to  keep  me  at  home. 
{Aside.) 

Cod.  Mr.  Quidnunc,  I  am  insiftucted  to  expound  the  law  to 
you. 

Quid.  What,  the  law  of  nations  ? 

Cod.  I  am  instructed,  sir,  that  you're  a  bankrupt.  Quasi 
lancus  ruptus — hanque  route  faire.  And  my  instructions  say 
further,  that  you  are  summoned  to  appear  before  the  commis- 
sioners to-morrow. 

Quid.  That  may  be,  sir,  but  I  can't  go  to-morrow  ;  and  so  I 
shall 'send  them  word.  lam  to  be  to-morrow  at  Slaughter's 
Coffee  House,  with  a  private  committee,  about  business  of  great 
consequence  in  the  affairs  of  Europe. 

Cod.  Then,  sir,  if  you  don't  go,  I  must  instruct  you  that  you 
will  be  guilty  of  a  felony  :  it  will  be  deemed  to  be  done  nnalo 
animo  ; — it  is  held  so  in  the  books  ;  and  what  says  the  statute  ? 
By  the  5th  Geo.  II,  chap.  30,  not  surrendering,  or  embezzling, 
is  felony,  without  benefit  of  clergy. 

Quid.  Ay,  you  tell  me  ne\ys. 

Cod.  Give  me  leave,  sir :  I  am  instructed  to  expound  the  law 
to  you.  Felony  is  thus  described  in  the  books  : — Felonia,  saith 
Hotoman  {De  Verbis  Feudalibus),  significat  capitate  facinus, — 
a  capital  offence. 

Quid.  You  tell  me  news — you  do  indeed  ! 

Cod.  It  was  so  apprehended  by  the  Goths  and  the  Long- 
bards.  And  what  saith  Sir  Edward  Coke  ? — Fieri  debeatfelleo 
animo. 


460  DIALOGUES. 

Quid.  You've  told  me  news : — I  did  not  know  it  was  felony 
But  if  the  Flanders  mail  should  come  in  while  I'm  there,  I 
should  know  nothing  at  all  of  it. 

Cod.  But  why  should  you  be  uneasy  ? — cui  bono,  Mr.  Quid- 
nunc ? — cui  bono  ? 

Quid.  Not  uneasy  !     If  the  Papists  should  beat  the  Protest- 

\ts? 

Cod.  But  I  tell  you,  they  can  get  no  advantage  of  us.     The 
xws  against  the  further  growth  of   Popery  will  secure  us. 
There  are  provisos  in  favor  of   Protestant  purchasers  under 
Papists : — 10th  Geo.  1,  chap.  4,  and  6th  George  II,  chap.  5. 

Quid.  Ay  ! 

Cod.  And,  besides,  Popish  recusants  can't  carry  arms ;  so 
can  have  no  right  of  conquest,  vi  et  armis. 

Quid.  That's  true,  that's  true  !    I  am  easier  in  my  mind — 

Cod.  To  be  sure  ;  what  are  you  uneasy  about  ?  The  Papists 
can  have  no  claim  to  Silesia. 

Quid.  Can't  they? 

Cod.  No,  they  can  set  up  no  claim.  If  the  queen,  on  her 
marriage,  had  put  all  her  lands  into  Hotchpot ;  then,  indeed, — 
and  it  seemeth,  saith  Littleton,  that  this  word  Hotchpot  is,  in 
English,  a  pudding — 

Quid.  You  reason  very  clearly,  Mr.  Codicil,  upon  the  rights 
of  the  powers  of  war ;  and  so  now,  if  you  will,  I  am  ready  to 
talk  a  little  of  my  affairs. 

Cod,  Nor  does  the  matter  rest  here  ;  for  how  can  she  set  up 
a  claim,  when  she  has  made  a  conveyance  to  the  house  of  Bran- 
denburgh  ?  The  law,  Mr.  Quidnunc,  is  very  severe  against 
fraudulent  conveyances.  {^Codicil  continues,  and  Quidnunc  be- 
comes very  impatient.) 

Quid.  'Sbodkins,  you  have  satisfied  me  ! 

Cod.  Why,  therefore,  then,  if  he  will  levy  fines,  and  suffer  a 
common  recovery,  he  can  bequeath  it  as  he  likes,  in  feodum, 
simplex,  provided  he  takes  care  to  put  in  his  sis  heres. 

Quid.  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it.  So  that,  with  regard  to  my 
effects — 

Cod.  Why,  then,  suppose  she  was  to  bring  it  to  a  trial  at 
bar — 

Quid.  I  say,  with  regard  to  the  full  disclosure  of  my 
effects — 

Cod.  What  would  she  get  by  that  ?  It  would  go  off  upon 
a  special  pleading  ;  and  as  to  equity — 

Quid.  Pray  must  I  now  surrender  ray  books  and  my  pamph- 
lets ? 


MUKPIIY.  461 

Cod.  What  would  equity  do  for  her?  Equity  can't  relieve 
her ;  he  might  keep  her  at  least  twenty  years  before  a  master, 
to  settle  the  account — 

Quid.  You  have  made  me  easy  about  the  Protestants  in  this 
war — ^you  have,  indeed.  So  that,  with  regard  to  my  appearing 
before  the  commissioners — 

Cod.  And  as  to  the  ban  of  the  empire,  he  may  demur  to 
that ;  for  all  tenures  by  knight-service  are  abolished,  and  the 
statute  12,  Charles  II,  has  declared  all  lands  to  be  held  under 
a  common  socage. 

Quid.  Pray,  now,  Mr.  Codicil,  must  not  my  creditors  appear 
to  prove  my  debts  ? 

Cod.  Why,  therefore,  then,  if  they're  held  in  common  so- 
cage, I  submit  it  to  the  court,  whether  the  empire  can  have  any 
claim  to  knight-service.  They  can't  call  on  him  for  a  single 
m'ln  for  the  wars — unum  hominem  ad  guerram.  For  what  is 
common  socage  ? — socagium  idem  est  quod  servitium  soccae, — 
the  service  of  the  plough. 

Quid.  I'm  ready  to  attend  to  them  ;  but,  pray,  now,  Avhen 
my  certificate  is  signed — it  is  of  great  consequence  to  me  to 
know  this — I  say,  sir,  when  my  certificate  is  signed,  mayn't  I 
then — Hey  !  hey !  what  do  I  hear  ? 

Cod.  I  apprehend — I  humbly  conceive,  when  your  certificate 
is  signed — 

Quid.  Hold  your  tongue !     Did  I  not  hear  the  "  Gazette  ?" 

Newsman  {without).  Great  news  in  the  "  London  Gazette  !" 

Quid.  Yes,  yes,  it  is — it  is  the  "  Gazette" — it  is  the  "  Ga- 
zette !" 

Cod.  The  law,  in  that  case,  Mr.  Quidnunc, />rma /aae — 

Quid.  I  can't  "hear  you; — I  have  not  time.  (^Endeavors  to 
pass  out.) 

Cod.  I  say,  sir,  it  is  held  in  the  books — 

Quid.  I  care  for  no  books  :  I  want  the  "  Gazette."  {Stamp- 
ing his  foot.) 

Cod.  Throughout  all  the  books — ( Quid,  rushes  out.)  Bo  ! 
lie  man's  non  compos  ;  and  his  friends,  instead  of  a  commission 
of  bankruptcy,  should  take  out  a  commission  of  lunacy. 

MU&FHT. 


462  DIALOGUES. 


8.     A  NAUTICAL  EXAMINAIION. 


Examiner.  How  would  you  scud  a  ship  under  bare  poles,  in 
a  gale  of  wind  ? 

Candidate.  I  should  get  the  four  and  main  yards  a-cock-bil), 
rib  in  the  jib-boom,  put  the  helm  hard-up,  lash  the  cook  and 
steward  to  the  tafFerel,  with  their  heads  clean  shaven,  and  let 
her  go.     That  is  what  I  call  scudding  a  ship  under  bare  poles. 

Ex.  When  scudding  under  bare  poles  in  a  hurricane,  how 
would  you  go  to  work  to  bring  the  ship  to  the  wind,  and  lay 
her  to  ? 

Can.  I  would  cut  away  the  mizzen-mast,  take  a  good  swig  at 
the  main-brace,  lash  the  helm  hard-a-port,  and  call  all  hands 
to  give  three  cheers  ! 

Ex.  Very  well,  indeed.  Can  you  pudden  an  anchor,  or  gam- 
mon a  bowsprit  ? 

Can.  No  ;  but  I  ctm  dispose  of  a  pudding,  or  stow  away  a 
gammon  of  bacon,  with  any  old  salt  who  ever  turned  a  quid. 

Ex.  Under  what  circumstances  should  you  consider  it  neces- 
sary to  box-haul  a  ship  ?  and  how  would  you  do  it  ? 

Can.  This  should  be  done  only  on  the  approach  of  a  thunder- 
squall,  and  it  is  a  delicate  manoeuvre.  Sway  up  the  spanker 
peak,  and  lash  the  boom  amidships,  let  fly  the  jib-sheets,  square 
the  fore  and  main  yards  by  the  lifts  and  braces,  send  a  stout 
hand  aloft  to  loose  the  main  royal,  jam  the  helm  a-lee,  and  let 
the  thunder-gust  come  !  You  will  soon  find  yourself  in  a  bad 
box — and  this  is  called  box-hauling. 

Ex.  Can  you  work  a  mousing,  man-fashion,  on  the  collar  of 
the  main-stay  ? 

Can.  I  am  not  so  certain  of  that ;  but  I  can  clap  a  mousing 
on  the  cook's^  head  with  a  handspike. 

Ex.  How  do  you  heave  a  ship  in  stays  ? 

Can.  Order  eveiy  man  to  his  station ;  the  cook  to  the  fore 
sheet,  and  the  boatswain  to  dance  a  hornpipe  on  the  capstan 
head  ;  and  when  the  skipper  sings  out,  "  Hard-a-lee,"  let  every 
man  shout  with  all  the  strength  of  his  lungs,  "Let  go  and  haul!" 

Ex.  Can  you  clear  a  ship's  hawse  when  there  is  a  round  turn 
in  the  cables  ? 

Can.  I  dare  say  I  can  ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  can  ride  a 
Flemish  horse  without  saddle,  martingale,  stirrup,  or  bridle. 

Ex.  Can  you  tell  me  how  to  work  a  traverse  ? 

Can.  Yes ;  Tom  Cox's  traverse — up  one  hatchway  and  down 
the  other 


ANONYMOUS.  463 

Ex.  How  do  you  perforin  the  evolution  of  club-hauling  ? 

Can.  Hoist  the  broad  pennant  at  the  jib-boom  end,  and  sway- 
up  the  cabin-boy  to  the  end  of  the  fore-topmast  studding-sail 
boom  ;  cut  away  the  best  bower-anchor,  and  knock  down  with 
a  heaver  the  first  man  you  can  hit.  That  is  what  is  meant  by 
club-hauling. 

Ex.  Did  you  ever  see  a  bumpkin  on  board  ship  without 
whiskers  ? 

Can.  Yes  ;  Jonathan  Flail,  on  board  the  bark  Powderhorn. 
Both  sides  of  his  cheeks  were  as  smooth  as  the  palm  of  my 
hand. 

Ex.  How  would  you  manage  to  raise  a  breeze  when  it  was  a 
dead  calm  ? 

C^an.  Put  all  hands  on  half  allowance,  and  set  them  at  work 
scraping  the  topmasts  and  cleaning  the  ship's  bottom,  without 
allowing  them  even  a  dog's  watch.  If  that  does  not  raise  a 
breeze,  whistle  "  Hey,  Betty  Martin,  tip-toe  tyc,"  until  you  see 
a  cat's-paw  stretching  across  the  water. 

Ex.  Who  has  the  hardest  time  on  board  a  ship  at  sea  ? 

Can.  The  "  sweet  little  Cherub"  which  keeps  watch  while 
sitting  up  aloft. 

Ex.  Who  has  the  hardest  time  in  port  ? 

Can.  The  little  nun  buoy,  who  keeps  watching  the  anchor, 
and  is  never  relieved  excepting  to  be  bled. 

Ex.  Why  is  a  ship  like  a  hen  ? 

Can.  Because  she  often  keeps  cackling. 

Ex.  Why  is  a  ship  like  a  well-bred  Frenchman  ? 

Can.  Because  she  prides  herself  on  her  graceful  bows. 

Ex.  Why  is  a  ship  like  a  .comet  ? 

Can.  Because  she  moves  rapidly  along,  and  leaves  a  brilliant 
and  sometimes  marvellously  crooked  wake  behind. 

Ex.  Why  is  a  ship  like  the  keeper  of  a  livery  stable  ? 

Can.  Because  she  is  well  provided  with  horses,  bridles,  sad- 
dles, stirrups,  whips,  and  martingales. 

Ex.  What  animal  does  a  ship  most  remind  you  of  ? 

Can.  A  cat.  Because  she  has  cat-heads,  cat-harpings,  cat- 
blocks — is  partial  to  cat's-paws — and  is  often  provided  with  a 
cat  with  nine  tails. 

Ex.  What  do  you  mean  by  cat-harpings  ? 

Can.  Cat-harpings  is  undoubtedly  a  corruption  of  cat's-harp- 
strings,  meaning  catgut. 

Ex,  Very  well  explained.  Is  there  ever  a  dog  on  board 
«hip? 

Can.  Always ;  and  he  keeps  the  watch  from  six  to  eight 


i64  DIALOGUES. 

o'clock  in  the  evening.  He  also  looks  closely  after  the  wind, 
and  is  sometimes  called  a  dog- vane. 

liJx.  I  wish  to  ask  you  one  more  question.  Why  is  a  ship 
like  a  woman  ? 

Can.  Because  she  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  objects  of  na- 
ture or  art — looks  best  with  a  neat  figure-head — ^is  proud  of  her 
fine  and  well-fitted  rigging — takes  delight  in  ear-rings,  jewels, 
and  gingerbread  work — makes  use  of  stays  to  keep  upright — 
moves  with  a  swimming  gait — wears  caps  to  which  are  fastened 
many  strings,  and  occasionally  claps  on  a  /)onnet ;  besides,  it  is 
desirable  that  she  should  be  well  mated  and  properly  manned ; 
for,  if  left  to  her  own  guidance,  she  would  soon  founder  on  the 
ocean,  or  be  wrecked  upon  the  rocks. 

Ex.  Well  done  !  You  answer  like  a  real  sailor,  ^here  can  be 
no  doubt  that  yon  possess  all  the  quahfications  necessary  to 
command  an  Indiaman.      Clerk,  make   out  this  man's  certifi- 

**^    •  Anonymous. 


9.      SCENE  FllOM  PIZARRO. 

Pizarro  ojid  Gomez. 

Piz.  How  now,  Gomez,  what  bringest  thou  ? 

Gom.  On  yonder  hill,  among  the  palm-trees,  we  have  sur- 
prised an  old  Peruvian.  Escape  by  flight  he  could  not,  and  we 
seized  him  unresisting. 

Piz.  Drag  him  before  us.  (Gomez  leads  in  Orozembo.) 
What  art  thou,  stranger  ? 

Oro.  First  tell  me  who  is  the  captain  of  this  band  of  rob- 

"  J*iz.  Audacious  I  This  insolence  has  sealed  thy  doom.  Die 
thou  shalt,  gray-headed  ruffian.  But  first  confess  what  thou 
knowest. 

Oro.  I  know  that  which  thou  hast  just  assur  ed  me  of,  that  I 
shall  die.    '' 

Piz.  Less  audacity  might  have  preserved  thy  life. 

Oro.  My  fife  is  as  a  withered  tree,  not  worth  preserving. 

Piz.  Hear  me,  old  man.  Even  now  we  march  against  the 
Peruvian  army.  We  know  there  is  a  secret  path  that  leads  to 
your  stronghold  among  the  rocks.  Guide  us  to  that,  and 
name  thy  reward.     If  wealth  be  thy  wish — 

Oro.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 


KOTZEBUE.  4:65 

Piz.  D.  st  thou  despise  my  offer  ? 

Oro.  Yes,  thee  and  thy  offer !  Wealth  ! — I  have  the  wealth 
of  two  gallant  sons.  I  have  stored  in  heaven  the  riches  which 
repay  good  actions  here ;  and  still  my  chiefest  treasure  do  I 
wear  about  me. 

Piz.  What  is  that  ?     Inform  me. 

Oro.  I  will,  for  thou  canst  never  tear  it  from  me.  An  un- 
sullied' conscience. 

Piz.  I  believe  there  is  no  other  Peruvian  who  dares  speak  as 
thou  dost. 

Oro.  Would  I  could  beUeve  there  is  no  other  Spaniard  who 
dares  act  as  thou  dost. 

Gom.  Obdurate  pagan !  how  numerous  is  your  army  ? 

Oro.  Count  the  leaves  of  the  forest. 

Gom.  Which  is  the  weakest  part  of  your  camp  ? 

Oro.  It  is  fortified  on  all  sides  by  justice. 

Gom.  Where  have  you  concealed  your  wives  and  children  ? 

Oro.  In  the  hearts  of  their  husbands  and  fathers. 

Piz.  Knowest  thou  Alonzo  ? 

Oro.  Know  him !  Alonzo !  Our  nation's  benefactor,  the 
guardian  angel  of  Peru ! 

Piz.  By  what  has  he  merited  that  title  ? 

Oro.  By  not  resembling  thee. 

Piz.  Who  is  this  Rolla,  joined  with  Alonzo  in  command  ? 

Oro.  I  will  answer  that,  for  I  love  to  speak  the  hero's  name. 
Rolla,  the  kinsman  of  the  king,  is  the  idol  of  our  army.  Id 
war  a  tiger,  in  peace  a  lamb.  Cora  was  once  betrothed  to  him, 
but  finding  she  preferred  Alonzo,  he  resigned  his  claim  for 
Cora's  happiness. 

Piz.  Romantic  savage  !     I  shall  meet  this  Rolla  soon. 

Oro.  Thou  hadst  better  not;  the  terrors  of  his  noble  eye 
v'ould  strike  thee  dead. 

Gom.  Silence,  or  tremble  ! 

Oro.  Beardless  robber  !  I  never  yet  have  learned  to  tremble 
before  man — why  before  thee,  thou  less  than  man  ? 

Gom.  Another  word,  audacious  heathen,  and  I  strike  ! 

Oro.  Strike,  Christian!  then  boast  among  thy  fellows,  *'  I  toe 
have  murdered  a  Peruvian."  Kotzebub. 

20* 


4:6Q  DIALOGUES, 

10.   THE  SAME. SECOND  SCENE. 

Sentinel,  Rolla,  andAlonzo. 
(Enter  Rolla,  disguised  as  a  Monk) 

Holla.  Inform  me,  friend,  is  Alonzo,  the  Peruvian,  confined 
in  this  dungeon  ? 

Sent.  He  is. 

Rolla.  I  must  speak  with  him. 

Sent.  You  must  not. 

Rolla.  He  is  my  friend. 

Sent.  Not  if  he  were  your  brother. 

Rolla.  What  is  to  be  his  fate  ? 

Sent.  He  dies  at  sunrise. 

Rolla.  Ha !  then  I  am  come  in  time — 

Sent.  Just  to  witness  his  death. 

Rolla  {advancing  towards  the  door).  Soldier,  1  rmist  speak 
with  him. 

Sent,  (pushing  him  hack  with  his  gun).  Back  !  back  !  it  is 
impossible. 

Rolla.  I  do  entreat  you  but  for  one  moment. 

Sent.  You  entreat  in  vain  :  my  orders  are  most  strict. 

Rolla.  Look  on  this  wedge  of  massy  gold  !  look  on  these 
precious  gems !  In  thy  land  they  will  be  wealth  for  thee  and 
thine,  beyond  thy  hope  or  wish.  Take  them — they  are  thine  ; 
let  me  but  pass  one  moment  with  Alonzo. 

Sent.  Away !  Wouldst  thou  corrupt  me  ?  Me,,  an  old 
Castilian  ! — I  know  my  duty  better.    . 

Rolla.  Soldier  !  hast  thou  a  wife  ? 

Sent.  I  have. 

Rolla.  Hast  thou  children  ? 

Sent.  Four — ^honest,  lovely  boys. 

Rolla.  Where  didst  thou  leave  them  ? 

Sent.  In  my  native  village,  in  the  very  cot  -where  I  was  born. 

Rolla.  Dost  thou  love  thy  wife  and  children  ? 

Sent.  Do  I  love  them  !     God  knows  my  heart ; — I  do. 

Rolla.  Soldier !  Imagine  thou  wert  doomed  to  die  a  cruel 
death  in  a  strange  land : — what  would  be  thy  last  request  ? 

Sent.  That  some  of  my  comrades  should  carry  my  dying 
blessing  to  my  wife  and  children. 

Rolla.  What  if  that  comrade  was  at  thy  prison  door,  and 
should  there  be  told,  thy  fellow-soldier  dies  at  sunrise,  yet  thou 
shalt  not  for  a  moment'  see  him,  nor  shalt  thou  bear  his  dying 


KOTZEBUE.  467 

blessing  to  his  poor  children,  or  his  wretched  wife — what 
wouldst  thou  think  of  him  who  thus  could  drive  thy  comrade 
from  the  door  ? 

Sent.  How? 

Holla.  Alonzo  has  a  wife  and  child ;  and  I  am  come  but  to 
receive  for  her,  and  for  her  poor  babe,  the  last  blessing  of  my 
friend. 

Sent.  Go  in.  (Exit  Sentinel.) 

Rolla  (calls),  Alonzo !  Alonzo ! 

(Enter  Alonzo,  speaking  as  he  comes  in.) 

Alon.  How !  is  my  hour  elapsed  ?     Well,  I  am  ready. 

Rolla.  Alonzo  ! — know  me  ! 

Alon.  Rolla !     O  Rolla  /  how  didst  thou  pass  the  ffuard  ? 

Rolla.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  in  words.  This 
disguise  I  tore  from  the  dead  body  of  a  friar,  as  I  passed  our 
field  of  battle.  It  has  gained  me  entrance  to  thy  dungeon  : — 
now  take  it  thou,  and  fly  ! 

Alon.  And  Rolla — 

Rolla.  Will  remain  here  in  thy  place. 

Alon.  And  die  for  me  !  No  !  rather  eternal  tortures  rack 
me. 

Rolla.  I  shall  not  die,  Alonzo.  It  is  thy  life  Pizarro  seeks, 
not  Rolla' s  ;  and  thy  arm  may  soon  deliver  me  from  prison. 
Or,  should  it  be  otherwise,  I  am  as  a  blighted  tree  in  the  desert ; 
nothing  lives  beneath  my  shelter.  Thou  art  a  husband  and  a 
father :  the  being  of  a  lovely  wife  and  helpless  infant  depend 
upon  thy  life.  Go,  go,  Alonzo !  not  to  save  thyself,  but  Cora, 
and  thy  child. 

Alon.  Urge  me  not  thus,  my  friend.  I  am  prepared  to  die 
in  peace. 

Rolla.  To  die  in  peace !  devoting  her  you  have  sworn  to  live 
for,  to  madness,  misery,  and  death  ! 

Alon.  Merciful  heavens ! 

Rolla.  If  thou  art  yet  irresolute,  Alonzo — now  mark  m& 
well.  Thou  knowest  that  Rolla  never  pledged  his  word  and 
shrunk  from  its  fulfilment.  Know  then,  if  thou  art  proudly 
obstinate,  thou  shalt  have  the  desperate  triumph  of  seeing 
Rolla  perish  by  thy  side. 

Alon.  0  Rolla  !  you  distract  me  !  Wear  you  the  robe,  and 
though  dreadful  the  necessity,  we  will  strike  down  the  guard, 
and  force  our  passage. 

Rolla.  What,  the  soldier  on  duty  here  ? 

Ahn.  Yes,  else  seeing  two,  the  alarm  will  be  instant  death. 


468  DIALOGUES. 

Rolla.  For  my  nation^s  safety,  I  would  not  harm  him  !  That 
soldier,  mark  me,  is  a  man !  All  are  not  men  that  wear  the 
human  form.  He  refused  my  prayers,  refused  my  goldy  denying 
to  admit,  till  his  own  feelings  bribed  him.  I  will  not  risk  a 
hair  of  that  man's  head,  to  save  my  heart-strings  from  con- 
suming fire.  But  haste  I  A  moment's  further  pause,  and  all 
is  lost. 

Alon.  Rolla,  I  fear  thy  friendship  drives  me  from  honor  and 
from  right. 

Rolla.  Did  Rolla  ever  counsel  dishonor  to  his  friend  ? 
[Throwing  the  friar's  garment  over  his  shoulders.)  There  ! — 
conceal  thy  face.     Now,  God  be  with  thee  1  Kotzebue 


11.     PEDANTRY, 


Digit,  a  mathematician  ;  Thill,  a  musician ;  Sesqitipedalia,  a  linguist  and 
philosopher ;  Drone,  a  servant  of  Mr.  Morrell,  in  whose  liouse  the  scene 
is  laid. 

(D^it  alone.) 

Digit.  If  theologians  are  in  want  of  a  proof  that  mankind  are 
daily  degenerating,  let  them  apply  to  me,  Archimedes  Digit.  I 
can  furnish  them  with  one  as  clear  as  any  demonstration  in  Eu- 
clid's third  or  fifth  book ;  and  it  is  this, — the  sublime  and  ex- 
alted science  of  Mathematics  is  falHng  into  general  disuse.  Oh 
that  the  patriotic  inhabitants  of  this  extensive  country  should 
suffer  so  degrading  a  circumstance  to  exist !  Why,  yesterday, 
I  asked  a  lad  of  fifteen  which  he  preferred,  Algebra  or  Geometry ; 
and  he  told  me — oh  horrible !  he  told  me  he  had  never  studied 
them !  I  was  thunderstruck,  I  was  astonished,  I  was  petrified ! 
Never  studied  Geometry !  never  studied  Algebra !  and  fifteen 
years  old  !  The  dark  ages  are  returning.  Heathenish  obscurity 
will  soon  overwhelm  the  world,  unless  i  do  something  immedi- 
ately to  enlighten  it ;  and  for  this  purpose  I  have  now  applied 
to  Mr.  Morrell,  who  lives  here,  and  is  celebrated  for  his  patron- 
age of  learning  and  learned  men.  {A  knock  at  the  door.)  Who 
waits  there  ? 

(Enter  Drone.) 

Is  Mr.  Morrell  at  home  ? 

Drone  (speaking  very  slow).     Can't  say  ;  s'pose  he  is ;  indeed, 
I  am  sure  he  is,  or  was  just  now. 
Digit.  Why,  I  could  solve  an  equation  while  you  are  answer-" 


ANONYMOUS.  409 

ing  a  question  of  five  words, — I  mean  if  the  unknOwn  terms  were 
all  on  one  side  of  the  equation.     Can  I  see  him? 

Drcme.  There  is  nobody  in  this  house  by  the  name  of  Qua- 
tion. 

Digit  {aside).  Now,  here's  a  fellow  that  cannot  distinguish 
between  an  algebraic  term  and  the  denomination  of  his  mas- 
ter ! — I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Mowell  upon  an  affair  of  infinite  im- 
portance. 

Drone.  Oh,  very  likely,  sir.  I  will  inform  him  that  Mr.  Qua- 
tion  wishes  to  see  him  {inimicTcing)  upon  an  affair  of  infinite  im- 
portance. 

Digit.  No,  no.     Digit — Digit.     My  name  is  Digit. 

Drone.  Oh,  Mr.  Digy-Digy  !     Very  likely.     {Exit  Drone.) 

Digit  (alone.)  That  fellow  is  certainly  a  negative  quantity. 
He  is  minus  common  sense.  If  this  Mr.  Morrell  is  the  man  I 
take  him  to  be,  he  cannot  but  patronize  my  talents.  Should  he 
not,  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  obtain  a  new  coat.  I  have  worn 
this  ever  since  I  began  to  write  my  theory  of  sines  and  co- 
tangents ;  and  my  elbows  have  so  often  formed  right  angles  with 
the  plane  surface  of  my  table,  that  a  new  coat  or  a  parallel  patch 
is  very  necessary.     But  here  comes  Mr.  Morrell. 

(Enter  Sesquipedalia.) 

Sir  {bowing  low),  I  am  your  most  Mathematical  servant.  I 
am  sorry,  sir,  to  give  you  this  trouble ;  but  an  affair  of  conse- 
quence— {pulling  the  rags  over  his  elbows) — an  affair  of  conse- 
quence, as  your  servant  informed  you — 

Sesquipedalia.  Servus  non  est  mihi,  Domine  ;  that  is,  I  h?ive 
no  servant,  sir.  I  presume  you  have  erred  in  your  calculation ; 
and 

Digit.  No,  sir.  The  calculations  Lam  about  to  present  you 
are  founded  on  the  most  correct  theorems  of  Euclid.  You  may 
examine  them,  if  you  please.  They  are  contained  in  this  small 
manuscript.     {Producing  a  folio.) 

Sesq.  Sir,  you  have  bestowed  a  degree  of  interruption  upon 
my  observations.  I  was  about,  or,  according  to  the  Latins,  fu- 
turus  sum,  to  give  you  a  little  information  concerning  the  lumi- 
nary who  appears  to  have  deceived  your  vision.  My  name,  sii-, 
is  Tullius  Maro  Titus  Crispus  Sesquipedaha ;  by  profession  a 
linguist  and  philosopher.  The  most  abstruse  points  in  physics 
or  metaphysics  are  to  me  transparent  as  ether.  I  have  come 
to  this  house  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  the  patronage  of  a 
gentleman  who  befriends  all  the  literati.     Now,  sir,  perhaps  J 


4:70  DIALOGUES. 

have  induced  conviction,  in  mente  tua,  that  is,  in  your  mind,  that 
your  calculation  was  erroneous. 

Digit.  Yes,  sir,  as  to  your  person,  I  was  mistaken ;  but  my 
calculations,  I  maintain,  are  correct,  to  the  tenth  part  of  a  circu- 
lating decimal. 

Sesq.  But  what  is  the  subject  of  your  manuscript?  Have 
you  discussed  the  infinite  divisibili^  of  matter  ? 

Digit.  No,  sir ;  I  cannot  reckon  infinity  ;  and  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  subjects  that  cannot  be  reckoned. 

Sjsq.  Why,  I  cannot  reckon  about  it.  I  reckon  it  is  divisi- 
ble ad  infinitum.  But  perhaps  your  work  is  upon  the  materi- 
ality of  light;  and  if  so,  which  side  of  the  question  do  you 
espouse  ? 

Digit.  Oh,  sir,  I  think  it  quite  immaterial. 

Sesq.  What !  light  immaterial !  Do  you  say  light  is  imma- 
terial ? 

Digit.  No;  I  say  it  is  quite  immaterial  which  side  of  the 
question  I  espouse.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  And  besides,  I 
am  a  bachelor,  and  do  not  mean  to  espouse  any  thing  at  present. 

Sesq.  Do  you  write  upon  the  attraction  of  cohesion  ?  You 
know  matter  has  the  properties  of  attraction  and  repulsion. 

Digit.  I  care  nothing  about  matter,  so  I  can  find  enough  for 
mathematical  demonstration. 

Sesq.  I  cannot  conceive  what  you  have  written  upon,  then. 
Oh,  it  must  be  the  centripetal  and  centrifugal  motions. 

Digit  {peevishly).  No,  no  !  I  wish  Mr.  Morrell  would  come  ! 
Sir,  I  have  no  motions  but  such  as  I  can  make  with  my  pencil 
upon  my  slate,  thus.  [Figuring  upon  Ids  hand.)  Six,  minus 
four,  plus  two,  equal  eight,  minus  six,  plus  two.  There,  those 
are  my  motions. 

Sesq.  Oh,  I  perceive  you  grovel  in  the  depths  of  Arithmetic. 
I  suppose  you  neyer  soared  into  the  regions  of  Philosophy.  You 
never  thought  of  the  vacuum  which  has  so  long  filled  the  heads 
of  philosophers.  '. 

Digit.  Vacuum  !  (Putting  his  hand  to  his  forehead.)  Let  me 
think. 

Sesq.  Ha!  what!  have  you  got  it  suh  manu,  that  is,  imder 
your  hand  ?     Ha !  ha !  ha  ! 

Digit.  Eh!  under  my  hand?  What  do  you  mean,  .sir? — 
that  my  head  is  a  vacuum  ?  Would  you  insult  me,  sir  ?  insult 
Archimedes  Digit  ?  Why,  sir,  I'll  cipher  you  into  infinite  divisi- 
bility. I'll  set  you  on  an  inverted  cone,  and  give  you  a  cen- 
tripetal and  centrifugal  motion  out  of  the  window,  sir !  I'll  scat- 
ter your  solid  contents ! 


AlfONYMOUS.  mi 


Sesq.  Da  veniam,  that  is,  pardon  me,  it  was  merely  a 
linguce,  that  is — • 

Digit.  Well,  sir,  I  am  not  fond  of  lapsus  linguoes,  at  all,  sir. 
However,  if  you  did  not  mean  to  offend,  I  accept  your  apology. 
I  wish  Mr.  Morrell  would  come. 

Sesq.  But,  sir,  is  your  work  upon  mathematics  ? 

Digit.  Yes,  sir.  In  this  manuscript  I  have  endeavored  to 
elucidate  the  squaring  of  the  circle. 

Sesq.  But,  sir,  a  square  circle  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
You  cannot  make  one. 

Digit.  I  perceive  you  are  a  novice  in  this  sublime  science. 
The  object  is  to  find  a  square  which  shall  be  equal  to  a  given 
circle  ;  which  I  have  done  by  a  rule  drawn  from  the  radii  of 
the  circle  and  the  diagonal  of  the  square.  And  by  my  rule  the 
area  of  the  square  will  equal  the  area  of  the  circle. 

Sesq.  Your  terms  are  to  me  incomprehensible.  Diagonal  is 
derived  from  the  Greek.  Dia  and  goneo,  that  is,  "  through  the 
corner."  But  I  don't  see  what  it  has  to  do  with  a  circle  ;  for 
if  I  understand  aright,  a  circle,  like  a  sphere,  has  no  corners. 

Digit.  You  appear  to  be  very  ignorant  of  the  science  of  num- 
bers. Your  life  must  be  very  insipidly  spent  in  poring  over 
philosophy  and  the  dead  languages.  You  never  tasted,  as  I 
have,  the  pleasure  arising  from  the  investigation  of  a  difficult 
problem,  or  the  discovery  of  a  new  rule  in  quadratic  equations. 

Sesq.  Poll!  poll!  [Turns  round  in  disgust,  and  hits  Digit 
with  his  cane.) 

Digit.  Oh,  you  villain  ! 

Sesq.  I  wish,  sir — 

Digit.  And  so  do  I  wish,  sir,  that  that  cane  w^as  raised  to  the 
fourth  power,  and  laid  over  your  head  as  many  times  as  there 
are  units  in  a  thousand.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Sesq.  Did  my  cane  come  in  contact  with  the  sphere  of  attrac- 
tion around  your  shin  ?     I  must  confess,  sir — 

(Enter  Trill.) 

But  here  is  Mr.  Morrell,  Salve  Domine  !     Sir,  your  servant. 

Trill.  Which  of  you,  gentlemen,  is  Mr.  Morrell  ? 

Sesq.  Oh  !  neither,  sir.     I  took  you'for  that  gentleman. 

Trill.  No,  sir ;  I«am  a  teacher  of  music.  Flute,,harp,  viol, 
violin,  violoncello,  organ,  or  any  thing  of  the  kind  ;  any  instru- 
ment you  can  mention.  I  have  just  been  displaying  my  powers 
at  a  concert,  and  come  recommended  to  the  patronage  of  Mr, 
Morre. 


472  DIALOGUES. 

Sesq.  For  the  same  purpose  are  that  gentleman  and  mysell 
here. 

Digit  (still  rubbing  his  shin).     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Trill.  Has  the  gentleman  the  gout  ?  I  have  heard  of  its 
being  cured  by  music.  Shall  I  sing  you  a  tune  ?  Hem !  hem  I 
Faw— 

Digit.  No,  no ;  I  want  none  of  your  tunes.  I'd  make  that 
philosopher  sing,  though,  and  dance,  too,  if  he  hadn't  made  a 
vulgar  fraction  of  my  leg. 

Sesq.  In  veritate,  that  js,  in  truth,  it  happened /or/e,  that  is, 
by  chance. 

Trill  (talking  to  himself).  If  B  be  flat,  me  is  in  E. 

Digit.  Ay,  sir ;  this  is  only  an  integral  part  of  your  conduct 
ever  since  you  came  into  this  house.  You  have  continued  to 
multiply  your  insults  in  the  abstract  ratio  of  a  geometrical  pro- 
gression, and  at  last  have  proceeded  to  violence.  The  dignity 
of  Archimedes  Digit  never  experienced  such  a  reduction  descend- 
ing before. 

Trill  (to  himself).  Twice  fa  sol  la,  and  then  comes  me 
again. 

Digit.  If  Mr.  Morrell  does  not  admit  me  soon,  I'll  leave  the 
house,  while  my  head  is  on  my  shoulders. 

Trill.  Gentlemen,  you  neither  keep  time  nor  chord.  But  if 
you  can  sing,  we  will  carry  a  trio  before'  we  go. 

Sesq.  Can  you  sing  an  ode  of  Horace  or  Anacreon  ?  I  should 
like  to  hear  one  of  them. 

Digit.  I  had  rather  hear  you  sing  a  demonstration  of  the 
forty-seventh  proposition,  first  book. 

Trill.  I  never  heard  of  those  performers,  sir  ;  where  did  they 
belong  ? 

Sesq.  They  did  belong  to  Italy  and  Greece. 

T7'ill.  Ah  !  Italy  !  There  are  our  best  masters,  such  as  Mo- 
relU  and  Fuselh.  Can  you  favor  me  with  some  of  their  compo- 
sitions ? 

Sesq.  Oh  yes ;  if  you  have  a  taste  that  way,  I  can  furnish 
you  with  them,  and  with  Virgil,  Sallust,  Cicero,  Csesar,  and 
Quintilian ;  and  I  have  an  old  Greek  Lexicon  which  I  can 
sparer. 

Trill.  Ad  libitum,  my  dear  sir,  they  Avill  make  a  handsome 
addition  to  my  musical  hbrary. 

Digit.  But,  sir,  what  pretensions  have  you  to  the  patronage 
of  Mr.  Morrell  ?     I  don't  believe  you  can  square  the  circle. 

Till.  Pretensions,  sir !  I  have  gained  a  victory  over  the  great 
Tantamarrarra,  the  new  opera  singer,  who  pretended  to  vie  with 


ANONYMOUS.-7-SEDI.ET.  473 

me.  'Twas  in  the  symphony  of  Handel's  Oratorio  of  Saul,  where 
you  know  every  thing  depends  upon  the  tempo  giusto,  and  where 
the  primo  should  proceed  in  smorgandoy  and  the  secondo,  agitati. 
But  he  was  on  the  third  ledger  Une,  I  was  an  octave  below, 
when,  with  a  sudden  appoggiaiura,  I  rose  to  D  in  alt,  and  con- 
quered him. 

(Enter  Drone.) 

Drone.  My  master  says  how  he  will  wait  on  you,  gentlemen. 

Digit.  What  is  your  name,  sir  ? 

Drone.  Drone,  at  your  service. 

Digit.  No,  no  ;  you  need  not  drone  at  my  service.  A  very 
applicable  name,  however. 

Sesq.  Drone  ?  That  is  derived  from  the  Greek  Draon,  that  is, 
flying  or  moving  swiftly. 

Trill.  He  seems  to  move  in  andante  measure,  that  is,  to  the 
tune  of  Old  Hundred. 

Drone.  Very  likely,  gentlemen. 

Digit.  Well,  as  I  came  first,  I  will  enter  first. 

Sesq.  Right.  You  shall  be  the  antecedent,  I  the  subsequent, 
and  Mr.  Trill  the  consequent. 

Trill.  Right.  I  was  always  a  man  of  consequence, — Fa,  sol, 
la,  Fa,  sol,  &c.     {Exeunt)  Anonymous 


12.      IRISH  COURTESY. 

Stranger. —  0'  Callaghan. 

Stranger.  I  have  lost  my  way,  good  friend  ;  can  you  assist 
me  in  finding  it  ? 

0'  Callaghan.  Assist  you  in  finding  it,  sir  ?  ay,  by  my  faith 
and  troth,  and  that  I  will,  if  it  was  to  the  world's  end,  and  fur- 
ther too. 

Str.  I  wish  to  return  by  the  shortest  route  to  the  Black 
Rock. 

0'  Cal.  Indade,  and  you  will,  so  plase  your  honor's  honor — 
and  O'Callaghan's  own  self  shall  show  you  the  way,  and  then 
you  can't  miss  it,  you  know. 

Str.  I  would  not  give  you  so  much  trouble,  Mr.  O'Calla- 
ghan. 

WCal.  It  is  never  a  trouble,  so  plase  your  honor,  for  an 
Irishman  to  do  his  duty.     {Bowing.) 


^%4t  DIALOGUES. 

Str.  Whither  do  you  travel,  friend  ? 

O'CaL  To  Dublin,  so  plase  your  honor — sure  all  the  worla 
knows  that  Judy  OTlannaghan  will  be  married  to-morrow,  God 
willing,  to  Pat  Ryan ;  and  Pat,  you  know,  is  my  own  foster- 
brother — because  why,  we  had  but  one  nurse  betwane  us,  and 
that  was  my  own  mother  ;  but  she  died  one  day — the  Lord  rest 
her  swate  soul !  and  left  me  an  orphan,  for  my  father  married 
again,  and  his  new  wife  was  the  devil's  own  child,  and  did  noth- 
ing but  bate  me  from  morning  till  night.  Och,  why  did  I  not 
die  before  I  was  born  to  see  that  day  !  for,  by  St.  Patrick,  he 
woman's  heart  was  as  cold  as  a  hailstone. 

Str.  But  what  reason  could  she  have  for  treating  you  so 
unmercifully,  Mr.  O'Callaghan  ? 

O'Cal.  Ah,  your  honor,  and  sure  enough  there  are  always 
rasons  as  plenty  as  pratees  for  being  hard-hearted.  And  I  was 
no  bigger  than  a  dumpling  at  the  time,  so  I  could  not  help 
myself,  and  my  father  did  not  care  to  help  me,  and  so  I  hopped 
the  twig,  and  parted  old  Nick's  darling  ;  och,  may  the  devil 
find  her  wherever  she  goes.  But  here  I  am  alive  and  lapeing, 
and  going  to  see  Pat  married  ;  and  faith,  to  do  him  justice,  he's 
as  honest  a  lad  as  any  within  ten  miles  of  us,  and  no  disparage- 
ment, neither ;  and  I  love  Pat,  and  I  love  all  his  family ;  ay,  by 
my  shoul  do  I,  every  mother's  skin  of  them — and  by  the  same 
token,  I  have  travelled  many  a  long  mile  to  be  present  at  his 
wedding. 

Str.  Your  miles  in  Ireland  are  much  longer  than  ours,  I  be- 
lieve. 

O'Cal.  Indade,  and  you  may  belave  that,  your  honor,  be- 
cause why,  St.  Patrick  measured  them  in  his  coach,  you  know. 
Och,  by  the  powers  ! — the  time  has  been — but,  'tis  no  matter, 
not  a  single  copper  at  all  at  all  now  belongs  to  the  family — but 
as  I  was  saying,  the  day  has  been,  ay,  by  my  troth,  and  the 
night  too,  when  the  O'Callaghans,  good  luck  to  them,  held 
their  heads  up  as  high  as  the  best ;  and  though  I  have  not  a 
rod  of  land  belonging  to  me,  but  what  I  hire,  I  love  my  coun- 
try, and  would  halve  my  last  pratee  with  every  poor  creature 
that  has  none. 

Str.  Pray,  how  does  the  bride  appear,  Mr.  O'Callaghan  ? 

0'  Cal.  Och,  by  my  shoul,  your  honor,  she's  a  nate  article ; 
and  tlien  she  will  be  rigged  out  as  gay  as  a  lark  and  as  fine  as 
a  peacock ;  because  why,  she  has  a  great  lady  for  her  godmo- 
ther, long  life  and  success  to  her,  who  has  given  Judy  two  milch 
cows  and  five  pounds  in  hard  money  ;  and  Pat  has  taken  as  da- 
cent  apartments  as  any  in  Dublin — a  nate  comely  parlor  as  you'd 


1^ 


SEDLEY. Al^rONYMOUS.  476 


wisli  to  see,  just  six  fate  under  ground,  witli  a  nice  beautiful 
ladder  to  go  down — and  all  so  complatc  and  gentale,  and  . com- 
fortable, as  a  body  may  say — 

Str.  Nothing  like  comfort,  Mr.  O'Callagban. 

0'  Cal.  Faith,  and  you  may  say  that,  your  honor.  (Ruhhing 
his  hands.)  Comfort  is  comfort,  says  I  to  Mrs.  O'Callaghan, 
•when  we  are  all  sated  so  cleverly  around  a  great  big  turf  fire, 
as  merry  as  grigs,  with  the  dear  little  grunters  snoring  so  swate- 
ly  in  the  corner,  defying  wind  and  weather,  with  a  dry  thatch, 
*md  a  sound  conscience  to  go  to  slape  upon — 

Str.  A  good  conscience  makes  a  soft  pillow. 

O'Cal.  Och,  jewel,  sure  it  is  not  the  best  beds  that  make  the 
best  slapers  ;  for  there's  Kathleen  and  myself  can  slape  like  two 
great  big  tops,  and  our  bed  is  none  of  the  softest — because  why, 
we  slape  on  the  ground,  and  have  no  bed  at  all  at  all. 

Str.  It  is  a  pity,  my  honest  fellow,  that  you  should  ever 
want  one.  There — {(jiving  him  a  gimiea) — good-by,  Mr.  O'Cal- 
laghan. 

0'  Cal.  I'll  drink  your  honor's  health,  that  I  will ;  and  may 
God  and  the  blessed  Virgin  bless  you  and  yours,  as  long  as 
grass  grows  and  water  runs.  Sedley. 


13.      ALDERMAN  SMUGGLER SIR  HARRY  WILDAIR ^JOHN. 

Sir  Harry.  Dear  Mr.  Alderman,  I'm  your  most  devoted  and 
humble  servant. 

Alderman  Smuggler.  My  best  friend.  Sir  Harry,  you're  wel- 
come to  England. 

Sir  H.  I'll  assure  you,  sir,  there's  not  a  man  in  the  king's  do- 
minions I  am  gladder  to  meet,  dear,  dear  Mr.  Alderman.  {Bow- 
ing  very  low.) 

Aid.  S.  Oh!  my  good  sir,  you  travellers  have  the  kindest, 
the  most  obliging  ways  with  you. 

Sir  H.  There  is  a  business,  Mr.  Alderman,  fallen  out,  which 
you  may  oblige  me  infinitely  by — I  am  very  sorry  that  I  am 
forced  to  be  troublesome — but  necessity,  Mr.  Alderman — 

Aid.  S.  Ay,  sir,  as  you  say,  necessity.  But,  upon  my  word, 
dear  sir,  I  am  very  short  of  money  at  present,  but — 

Sir  11.  That's  not  the  matter,  sir ;  I'm  above  an  obligation 
that  way  ;  but  the  business  is,  I  am  reduced  to  an  indispensable 


V 

^ti  DIALOGUES. 

necessity  of  being  obliged  to  you  for  a  beating.  Here,  take 
this»ane. 

Aid.  S.  A  beating,  Sir  Harry !  lia,  ha,  ha !  I  beat  a  knight 
baronet !     An  alderman  turned  cudgel-player !  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Sir  IT.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  you  must  beat  me,  or  I'll  beat 
you ;  take  your  choice. 

Aid.  S.  Psha !  psha  !  you  jest. 

Sir  IT.  Nay,  'tis  sure  as  fate ;  so  my  dear,  dear  Mr.  Alder- 
man, I  hope  you'll  pardon  my  curiosity.     {Strikes  him.) 

Aid.  S.  Curiosity !  Deuce  take  your  curiosity,  sir.  What 
d'ye  mean  ? 

Sir  IT.  Nothing  at  all.     I'm  but  in  jest,  good  sir. 

Aid.  S  Oh  !  I  can  take  any  thing  in  jest;  but  a  man  might 
imagine,  by  the  smartness  of  the  stroke,  that  you  were  in  down- 
right earnest. 

Sir  If.  Not  in  the  least,  sir — (strikes  him) ;  not  in  the  least, 
indeed,  dear  sir. 

Aid.  S.  Pray,  good  sir,  no  more  of  your  jests  ;  for  they  are 
the  bluntest  jests  that  I  ever  knew. 

Sir  II.  {strikes  him).  I  heartily  beg  your  pardon,  with  all 
my  heart,  sir. 

Aid.  S.  Pardon,  sir  !  well,  sir,  that  is  satisfaction  enough 
from  a  gentleman  ;  but  seriously  now.  Sir  Harry,  if  you  pass 
any  more  of  your  jests  upon  me,  I  shall  grow  angry. 

Sir  H.  I  humbly  beg  your  permission  to  break  one  or  two 
more.     {Strikes  him.) 

Aid.  S.  Oh  !  oh  !  sir,  you'll  certainly  break  my  bones.  Are 
you  mad,  sir  ?  John !  John !  murder,  felony,  manslaughter, 
murder !     {Huns  about,) 

Sir  H.  Sir,  I  beg  you  ten  thousand  pardons  ;  but  I  am  ab- 
solutely compelled  to  it,  upon  my  honor,  sir ;  nothing  can  be 
more  averse  to  ray  inclination  than  to  jest  with  my  honest,  dear, 
loving,  obliging  friend,  the  alderman.  {Striking/  him  all  the 
iiijie.) 

(Enter  John.) 

John.  Oh  !  goodness  !  Sir  Harry's  murdering  the  poor  old 
man. 

Aid.  S.  Oh !  John,  oh  !  John,  I  have  been  beaten  in  jest  till 
I  am  almost  murdered  in  good  earnest. 

John.  Oh  !  for  charity's  sake.  Sir  Harry,  remember  what  you 
are  doing  ;  forbear,  sir,  or  I'll  raise  the  neighborhood.  {Aside.) 
Though,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  old  rogue  richly  deserves  it,  and 
for  my  part,  I  enjoy  the  joke.     {Sir  H.  takes  snuff.) 


ANONYMOUS. — MORTON .  47  7 

Aid.  S.  Now,  sir,  I  will  have  amends,  sir,  before  I  leave  the 
l)lace,  sir ;  how  durst  you  use  me  thus  ? 

Sir.  H.-  Sir  ? 

Aid.  S.  Sir,  I  say  that  I  will  have  satisfaction. 

Sir  II.  Oh!  sir,  with  all  my  heart.  {Throws  snuff  in  his 
eyes.) 

Aid.  S.  Oh !  murder,  blindness,  fire  !  Oh !  John,  John  !  get 
me  some  water !  water,  fire,  water  !     (Exit  with  John.)   >. 

Sir  H.  How  pleasant  is  resenting  an  injury  without  passion  ! 
'lis  the  beauty  of  revenge. 

Let  statesmen  plot,  and  under  business  groan, 
And,  settling  public  quiet,  lose  their  own ; 
I  make  the  most  of  life, — ^no  hour  misspend. 
Pleasure's  the  mean,  and  pleasure  is  my  end. 
No  spleen,  no  trouble,  shall  my  time  destroy ; 
Life's  but  a  span,  I'll  every  inch  enjoy. 

Anonymous. 


14.     SIR  PHILIP  BLANDFORD ASIIFIELD. 

Sir  Philip.  Come  hither.  I  beheve  you  hold  a  farm  of 
mine. 

Ashjield.  Ees,  zur,  I  do,  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.  I  hope  a  profitable  one. 

Ash.  Zometimes  it  be,  zur.  But  thic  year  it  be  all  t'other 
way,  as  'twur  ;  but  I  do  hope,  as  our  landlords  have  a  tightish 
big  lump  of  the  good,  they'll  be  zo  kind-hearted  as  to  take  a 
little  bit  of  the  bad. 

Sir  P.  It  is  but  reasonable.  I  conclude,  then,  you  are  in 
my  debt. 

Ash.  Ees,  zur,  I  be ;  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.  How  much  ? 

Ash.  I  do  owe  ye  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds ;  at  your  zar- 
vice. 

Sir  P.  Which  you  can't  pay. 

Ash.  Not  a  varthing,  zur  ;  at  your  zarvice. 

Sir  P.  Well,  I  am  willing  to  allow  you  every  indulgence. 

Ash.  Be  you,  zur  ?  that  be  deadly  kind.  Dear  heart !  it 
will  make  my  auld  dame  quite  young  again,  and  I  don't  think 
helping  a  poor  man  will  do  your  honor's  health  any  harm  ;  I 
don't,  indeed,  zur.  I  had  a  thought  of  speaking  to  your  wor- 
ship aboat  it ;  but  then,  thinks  I,  the  gentleman  mayhap  be 
one  of  those  that  do  like  to  do  a  jrood  turn,  and  not  have  a 


0s  DIALOGUES. 

word  zaid  about  it :    zo,  zur,  if  you  had  not  mentioned  what  I 
owed  you,  I  am  zure  I  never  should  ;  should  not,  indeed,  zur. 

Sir  P.  Nay,  I  will  wholly  acquit  you  of  the  debt,  on  con 
dition — 

Ash.  Ees,  zur. 

Sir  P.  On  condition,  I  say,  that  you  instantly  turn  out  that 
boy — that  Henry. 

Ash.  Turn  out  Henry !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Excuse  my  tittering, 
zur ;  but  you  bees  making  your  vun  of  I,  zure. 

Sir  P.  I  am  not  apt  to  trifle  :  send  him  instantly  from  you, 
or  take  the  consequences. 

Ash.  Turn  out  Henry  !  I  do  vow  I  shouldn't  know  how  to 
set  about  it ;  I  should  not,  indeed,  zur. 

Sir  P.  You  hear  my  determination.  If  you  disobey,  you 
know  what  will  follow.     I'll  leave  you  to  reflect  on  it.     {Exit.) 

Ash.  Well,  zur,  I'll  argify  the  topic,  and  then  you  may  wait 
upon  me,  and  I'll  tell  ye.  (Makes  the  motion  of  turning  out.) 
I  should  be  deadly  awkard  at  it,  vor  zartain.  However,  I'll 
put  the  case.  Well !  I  goes  whiztling  whoam ;  noa,  drabbit  it ! 
I  shouldn't  be  able  to  whiztle  a  bit,  I'm  zure.  Well !  I  goes 
whoam,  and  I  zees  Henry  sitting  by  my  wife,  mixing  up  someit 
to  comfort  the  wold  zoul,  and  take  away  the  pain  of  her  rheu- 
matics. Very  well !  Then  Henry  places  a  chair  vor  I  by  the 
vire-side,  and  zays — "  Varmer,  the  horses  be  fed,  the  sheep  be 
folded;  and  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  zit  down,  smoke 
your  pipe,  and  be  hap^y !"  Very  well !  (Becomes  affected.) 
Then  I  zays,  "  Henry,  you  be  poor  and  friendless ;  so  you  must 
>turn  out  of  my  house  directly."  Very  well !  Then  my  wife 
stares  at  I ;  reaches  her  hand  towards  the  vire-place,  and  throws 
the  poker  at  my  head.  Yerj  well !  Then  Henry  gives  a  kind 
of  aguish  shake,  and  getting  up,  sighs  from  the  bottom  of  his 
heart ;  then  holding  up  his  head  like  a  king,  zays,  "  Varmer,  I 
have  too  long  been  a  burden  to  you.  Heaven  protect  you,  as 
you  have  me.  Farewell !  I  go."  Then  I  zays,  *'  If  thee  doez, 
I'll  be  smashed."  (With  great  energy.)  Hollo!  you  Mister 
Sir  Philip  \  you  may  come  in. 

(Enter  Sir  Philip  Blandford.) 

Zur,  I  have  argified  the  topic,  and  it  wouldn't  be  pretty ;  zo 
I  can't. 

Sir  P.  Can't! 

Ash.  Well,  zur,  there  is  but  another  word :  I  won't. 

Sir  P.  Indeed ! 


MOETON. ANONYMOUS . 


479 


Ash.  No,  zur,  I  won't.  I'd  see  myself  hanged  first,  and  you 
too,  zur  !     I  would  indeed.     (Bowing.) 

Sir.  P.  You  refuse,  then,  to  obey  ? 

Ash.  I  do,  zur  ;  at  your  zarvice.     {Bowing.) 

Sir  P.  Then  the  law  must  take  its  course. 

Ash.  I  be  zorry  for  that  too.  I  be,  indeed,  zur ;  but  if  corn 
wouldn't  grow,  I  couldn't  help  it :  it  weren't  poisoned  by  the 
hand  that  zowed  it.  Thic  hand,  zur,  be  as  free  from  guilt  as 
your  own.  Good  morning  to  you.  I  do  hope  I  have  made 
myself  agreeable  ;  and  zo  I'll  2:0  whoam.    {Exeunt.) 

Morton. 


15.      INDIGESTION. 

Dr.   Gregory. — Patient. 
Scene. — Dr.  Gregory's  study.    Enter  a  plump  Glasgow  merchant. 

Patiejit.  Good  morning.  Dr.  Gregory  !  I'm  just  come  into 
Edinburgh  about  some  law  business,  and  I  thought  when  I  was 
here,  at  any  rate,  I  might  just  as  weel  take  your  advice,  sir, 
about  my  trouble. 

Doctor.  Pray,  sir,  sit  down.  And  now,  my  good  sir,  what 
may  your  trouble  be  ? 

Pa.  Indeed,  doctor,  I'm  not  very  sure  ;  but  I'm  thinking  it's 
a  kind  of  weakness  that  makes  me  dizzy  at  times,  and  a  kind  of 
pinkUng  about  my  stomach  ; — I'm  just  na  right. 

Dr.  You  are  from  the  west  country,  I  should  suppose,  sir  ? 

Pa.  Yes,  sir,  from  Glasgow. 

Dr.  Ay  ;  pray,  sir,  are  you  a  glutton  ? 

Pa.  God  forbid,  sir ;  I'm  one  of  the  plainest  men  living  in 
all  the  west  country. 

Dr.  Then,  perhaps,  you  are  a  drunkard  ? 

Pa.  No,  Dr.  Gregory ;  thank  God,  no  one  can  accuse  me  of 
that.  I'm  of  the  dissenting  persuasion,  doctor,  and  an  elder ; 
so  you  may  suppose  I'm  na  drunkard. 

Dr.  I'll  suppose  no  such  thing  till  you  tell  me  your  mode  of 
life.  I'm  so  much  puzzled  with  your  symptoms,  sir,  that  I 
should  wish  to  hear  in  detail. what  you  do  eat  and  drink.  When 
do  you  breakfast,  and  what  do  you  take  at  it  ? 

Pa.  I  breakfast  at  nine  o'clock ;  tak  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 
one  or  two  cups  of  tea,  a  couple  of  eggs,  and  a  bit  of  ham  or 


480  DIALOGUES. 

kippered  salmon,  or,  may  be,  both,  if  they're  good,  and  two  or 
three  rolls  and  butter. 

Br.  Do  you  eat  no  honey,  or  jelly,  or  jam,  at  breakfast  ? 

Pa.  Oh,  yes,  sir !  but  I  don't  count  that  as  any  thing. 

Dr.  Come,  this  is  a  very  moderate  breakfast.  What  kind  of 
a  dinner  do  you'  make  ? 

Pa.  Oh,  sir,  I  eat  a  very  plain  dinner  indeed.  Some  soup, 
and  some  fish,  and  a  little  plain  roast  or  boiled ;  for  I  dinna 
care  for  made  dishes  :  I  think,  some  way,  they  never  satisfy  the 
appetite. 

Dr.  You  take  a  little  pudding,  then,  and  afterwards  some 
cheese  ? 

Pa.  Oh,  yes !  though  I  don't  care  much  about  them. 

Dr.  You  take  a  glass  of  ale  or  porter  with  your  cheese  ? 

Pa.  Yes,  one  or  the  other ;  but  seldom  both. 

Dr.  You  west-country  people  generally  take  a  glass  of  High- 
land whiskey  after  dinner. 

Pa.  Yes,  we  do  ;  it's  good  for  digestion. 

Dr.  Do  you  take  any  wine  during  dinner  ? 

Pa.  Yes,  a  glass  or  two  of  sherry ;  but  I'm  indifferent  as  to 
wine  during  dinner.     I  drink  a  good  deal  of  beer. 

Dr.  What  quantity  of  port  do  you  drink  ? 

Pa.  Oh,  very  little ;  not  above  half  a  dozen  glasses  or  so. 

Dr.  In  the  west  country,  it  is  impossible,  I  hear,  to  dine 
without  punch? 

Pa.  Yes,  sir :  indeed,  'tis  punch  we  drink  chiefly ;  but  foi 
myself,  unless  I  happen  to  have  a  friend  with  me,  I  never  take 
more  than  a  couple  of  tumblers  or  so,  and  that's  moderate. 

Dr.  Oh,  exceedingly  moderate  indeed!  You  then,  after 
this  slight  repast,  take  some  tea  and  bread  and  butter  ? 

Pa.  Yes,  before  I  go  to  the  counting-house  to  read  the 
evening  letters. 

Dr.  And  on  your  return  you  take  supper,  I  suppose  ? 

Pa.  No,  sir,  I  canna  be  said  to  tak  supper ;  just  something 
before  going  to  bed ; — a  rizzered  haddock,  or  a  bit  of  toasted 
cheese,  or  a  half  hundred  of  oysters,  or  the  like  o'  that,  and 
may  be,  two-thirds  of  a  bottle  of  ale;  but  I  tak  no  regular 
supper. 

Dr.  But  you  take  a  little  more  punch  after  that  ? 

Pa.  No,  sir,  punch  does  not  agree  with  me  at  bedtime.  I 
tak  a  tumbler  of  warm  whiskey-toddy  at  night ;  it  is  lighter  to 
sleep  on. 

Dr.  So  it  must  be,  no  doubt.  This,  you  say,  is  your  every- 
day life ;  but,  upon  great  occasions,  you  perhaps  exceed  a  little  ? 


AlfONYMOUS. — COLMAN.  481 

Pa.  No,  sir,  excejDt  when  a  friend  or  two  dine  with  me,  or 
I  dine  out,  Avhich,  as  I  am  a  sober  family  man,  does  not  often 
happen. 

Dr.  Not  above  twice  a  week  ? 

Pa.  No  ;  not  oftener. 

Dr.  Of  course  you  sleep  well  and  have  a  good  appetite  ? 

Pa.  Yes,  sir,  thank  God,  I  have ;  indeed,  any  ill  health  that 
I  have  is  about  meal-time. 

Dr.  (assuming  a  severe  loolc\  knitting  his  brow,  and  lowering 
his  eyebrows).  Now,  sir,  you  arc  a  very  pretty  fellow  indeed. 
You  come  here  and  tell  me  you  are  a  moderate  man ;  but  upon 
examination,  I  find  by  your  own  showing,  that  you  are  i  most 
voracious  glutton.  You  said  you  were  a  sober  man  ;  yet,  by 
your  own  showing,  you  are  a  beer-swiller,  a  dram-drinker,  a 
wine-bibber,  and  a  guzzler  of  punch.  You  tell  me  you  eat 
indigestible  supper's,  and  swill  toddy  to  force  sleep.  I  see  that 
you  chew  tobacco.  Now,  sir,  what  human  stomach  can  stand 
this  ?  Go  home,  sir,  and  leave  your  present  course  of  riotous 
living,  and  there  are  hopes  that  your  stomach  may  recover  its 
tone,  and  you  be  in  good  health,  like  your  neighbors. 

Pa.  I'm  sure,  doctor,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you  '{taking 
out  a  bundle  of  bank  notes).     I  shall  endeavor  to — 

Dr.  Sir,  you  are  not  obliged  to  me  : — put  up  your  money, 
sir.  Do  you  think  I'll  take  a  fee  for  telUng  you  what  you 
know  as  well  as  myself  ?  Though  you're  no  physician,  sir,  you 
are  not  altogether  a  fool.  Go  home,  sir,  and  reform,  or  take 
my  word  for  it,  your  life  is  not  worth  half  a  year's  purchase. 

Anonymous. 


IG.      OLLAFOB SIR  CHARLES  CROPLAND. 

Ollajwd.  Sir  Charles,  I  have  the  honor  to  be  your  slave. 
Hope  your  health  is  good.  Been  a  hard  winter  here  :  sore 
throats  were  plenty;  so  were  woodcocks.  Flushed  four  couple 
one  morning,  in  a  half-mile  walk  from  our  town,  to  cure  Mrs, 
Quarles  of  a  quinsy.  May  coming  on  soon,  Sir  Charles.  Hope 
you  come  to  sojourn.  Shouldn't  be  always  on' the  wing  ;  that's 
being  too  flighty.     Do  you  take,  good  sir,  do  you  take  ? 

Sir  Charles.  Oh,  yes,  I  take.  But  by  the  cockade  in  your 
hat,  Ollapod,  you  have  added  lately,  it  seems,  to  your  avoca- 
tions. 

n 


482  DIALOGUES. 

Olla.  My  dear  Sir  Charles,  I  have  now  the  honor  to  be  cor- 
net in  the  volunteer  association  corps  of  our  town.  It  fell  out 
unexpected — pop  on  a  sudden ;  like  the  going-off  of  a  field- 
piece,  or  an  alderman  in  an  apoplexy. 

Sir  0.  Explain. 

Olla.  Happening  to  be  at  home — rainy  day — no  going  out  to 
sport,  blister,  shooi,  nor  bleed — was  busy  behind  the  counter. 
You  know  my  shop,  Sir  Charles — Galen's  head  over  the  door, 
— new-gilt  him  last  week,  by-the-by — looks  as  fresh  as  a  pill. 

Sir  C.  Well,  no  more  on  that  head  now  :  proceed. 

Olla.  On  that  liead  !  That's  very  well — very  well,  indeed  ! 
Thank  you,  good  sir — I  owe  you  one.  Churchwarden  Posh,  of 
our  town,  being  ill  of  an  indigestion,  from  eating  three  pounds 
of  measly  pork,  at  a  vestry  dinner,  I  was  making  up  a  cathartic 
for  the  patient,  when,  who  should  strut  into  the  shop  but 
Lieutenant  Grains,  the  brewer — sleek  as  a  dray-horse — in  a 
smart  scarlet  jacket,  tastily  turned  up  with  a  rhubarb-colored 
-lapel.  I  confess  his  figure  struck  me.  I  looked  at  him  as  I 
was  thumping  the  mortar,  and  felt  instantly  inoculated  with  a 
military  ardor. 

Sir  C.  Inoculated  !  I  hope  your  ardor  was  of  a  very  favor- 
able sort. 

Olla.  Ha !  ha  !  That's  very  well — very  well,  indeed  !  Tliank 
you,  good  sir — I  owe  you  one.  We  first  talked  of  shooting  ; — 
he  knew  my  celebrity  that  way.  Sir  Charles.  I  told  him  tlie 
day  before  I  had  killed  six  brace  of  birds ; — I  thumped  on  at 
the  mortar,  We  then  talked  of  physic.  I  told  him  the  day 
before  I  had  killed — lost,  I  mean — six  brace  of  patients  ; — I 
thumped  on  at  the  mortar — eyeing  him  all  the  while ;  for  he 
looked  mighty  flashy,  to  be  sure ;  and  I  felt  an  itching  to  belong 
to  the  corps.  The  medical  and  military  both  deal  in  death,  you 
know :  so  'twas  natural.     Do  you  take,  good  sir — do  you  take  ? 

Sir  C.  Take  ?     Oh,  nobody  can  miss. 

Olla.  He  then  talked  of  the  corps  itself ;  said  it  was  sickly ; 
and  if  a  professional  person  would  administer  to  the  health  of 
the  association — dose  the  men,  and  drench  the  horse — he  could, 
perhaps,  procure  him  a  cornctcy. 

Sir  C.  Well,  you  jumped  at  the  offer ! 

Olla.  Jumped  !  I  jumped  over  the  counter— kicked  down 
churchwarden  Posh's  cathartic  into  the  pocket  of  Lieutenant 
Grain's  smart  scarlet  jacket,  tastily  turned  up  with  a  rhubarb- 
colored  lapel;  embraced  him  and  his  offer;  and  I  am  now 
Cornet  Ollapod,  apothecary,  at  the  Galen's  Head,  of  the  asso- 
ciation corps  of  cavalry,  at  your  service. 


COLMAN.  483 

Sir  C.  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  appointment!  You  may 
now  distil  water  for  the  shop  from  the  laurels  you  gather  in  the 
field. 

Olla.  Water  for — oh  !  laurel-water.  Come,  that's  very  well 
— very  well,  indeed  !  Thank  you,  good  sir — I  owe  you  one. 
Why,  I  fancy  fame  will  follow,  when  the  poison  of  a  small 
mistake  I  made  has  ceased  to  operate. 

Sir  C.  A  mistake  ? 

Olla.  Having  to  attend  Lady  Kitty  Carbuncle  on  a  grand 
field-day,  clapped  a  pint  bottle  of  her  ladyship's  diet  drink  into 
one  of  my  holsters,  intending  to  proceed  to  the  patient  after 
the  exercise  was  over.  I  reached  the  martial  ground,  and 
jalaped — galloped,  I  mean — wheeled  and  flourished  with  great 
eclat ;  but  when  the  word  "  Fire  !"  Avas  given,  meaning  to  pull 
out  my  pistol,  in  a  horrible  hurry  I  presented,  neck  fpremost, 
the  villanous  diet  drink  of  Lady  Kitty  Carbuncle ;  and .  the 
medicine  being  unfortunately  fermented  by  the  jolting  of  my 
horse,  it  forced  out  the  cork  with  a  prodigious  pop,  full  in  the 
face  of  my  gallant  commander. 

Sir  C.  But,  in  the  midst  of  so  many  pursuits,  how  proceeds 
practice  among  the  ladies  ?  Any  new  faces  since  I  left  the 
country  ? 

Olla.  Nothing  worth  an  item ;  nothing  new  arrived  in  our 
town.  In  the  village,  to  be  sure,  hard  by.  Miss  Emily  Wor- 
thington,  a  most  brilliant  beauty,  has  lately  given  lustre  to  the 
estate  of  farmer  Harrowby. 

Sir  C.  My  dear  doctor,  the  lady  of  all  others  I  wish  most 
to  know.  Introduce  yourself  to  the  family,  and  pave  the  way 
for  me.  Come !  mount  your  horse — I'll  explain  more  as  you 
go  to  the  stable  ;  but  I  am  in  a  flame — in  a  fever,  till  I  see 
you  off". 

Olla.  In  a  fever !  I'll  send  you  physic  enough  to  fill  a  bag- 
gage wagon. 

Sir  C.  {aside).  So !  a  long  bill  as  the  price  of  his  polite- 
ness ! 

Olla.   You  need  not  bleed  ;    but  you  must  have  medicine. 

Sir  C.  If  I  must  have  medicine,  Ollapod,  I  fancy  I  shall 
bleed  pretty  freely. 

Olla.  Come,  that's  very  Avell — very  well,  indeed!  Thank 
you,  good  sir — I  owe  you  one.  Before  dinner,  a  strong  dose 
of  coloquintida,  senna,  scammony,  and  gamboge — 

Sir  C.  Oh,  confound  scammony  and  gamboge  ! 

Olla.  At  night,  a  narcotic  ;  next  day,  saline  draughts,  cam- 
phorated jalap,  and — 


484  DIALOGUES. 

Sir  C.  Zounds  !  only  go,  and  I'll  swallow  your  whole  shop. 

Olla.  Galen  forbid  !  'Tis  enough  to  kill  every  customer  1 
have  in  the  parish.  Then  we'll  throw  in  the  bark ; — by-the-by, 
talking  of  bark,  Sir  Charles,  that  Juno  of  yours  is  the  prettiest 
pointer — 

Si7'  C.  Well,  well — she  is  yours. 

Olla.  My  dear  Sir  Charles  !  such  sport  next  shooting  season  ! 
If  I  had  but  a  double-barrelled  gun — 

Sir  C.  Take  mine  that  hangs  in  the  hall. 

Olla.  My  dear  Sir  Charles !  Here's  morning's  work  ;  senna 
and  coloquintida.     (A&ide.) 

Sir  C.  Well,  begone,  then.     (Pushing  him.) 

Olla.  I'm  off; — scammony  and  gamboge! 

Sir  C.  Nay,  fly,  man  ! 

Olla.  I  do.  Sir  Charles.  A  double-baiTclled  gun — I  fly — the 
bark — I'm  going — Juno — a  narcotic  ! 

Sir  C.  OS  ^ith  you  I  Colma.. 


lY.      OLD  FICKLE TRISTRAM  FICKLE. 

Old  Fickle.  What  reputation,  what  honor,  what  profit  can 
accrue  to  you  from  such  conduct  as  yours  ?  One  moment  you 
tell  me  you  are  going  to  become  the  greatest  musician  in  the 
world,  and  straight  you  fill  my  house  with  fiddlers. 

Tristram.  I  am  clear  out  of  that  scrape  now,  sir. 

Old  F.  Then,  from  a  fiddler,  you  are  metamorphosed  into  a 
philosopher  ;  and  for  the  noise  of  drums,  trumpets,  and  haut- 
boys, you  substitute  a  vile  jargon,  more  unintelligible  tlian  was 
ever  heard  at  the  Tower  of  Babel. 

Tri.  You  are  right,  sir.  I  have  found  out  that  philosophy 
is  folly ;  so  I  have  cut  the  philosophers  of  all  sects,  from  Plato 
and  Aristotle  down  to  the  puzzlers  of  modern  date. 

Old  F.  How  much  had  I  to  pay  the  cooper  the  other  day 
for  barrelling  you  up  in  a  large  tub,  when  you  resolved  to  live 
like  Diogenes  ? 

Tri.  You  should  not  have  paid  him  any  thing,  sir,  for  the 
tub  would  not  hold.     You  see  the  contents  are  run  out. 

Old  F.  No  jesting,  sir ;  this  is  no  laughing  matter.  I'our 
follies  have  tired  me  out,  I  verily  believe  you  have  taken  the 
whole  round  of  arts  and  sciences  in  a  month,  and  have  been  of 
fifty  diiferent  minds  in  half  an  hour. 


ALLINGIIAM.  485 

Tri.  And,  by  that,  shown  the  versatility  of  my  genius. 

Old  F.  Don't  tell  me  of  versatility,  sir.  Let  me  see  a  little 
steadiness.  You  have  never  yet  been  constant  to  any  thing  but 
extravagance. 

Tri.   Yes,  sir,  one  thing  more. 

Old  F.  What  is  that,  sir  ? 

Tri.  Affection  for  you.  However  my  head  may  have  wan- 
dered, my  heart  has  always  been  constantly  attached  to  the 
kindest  of  parents ;  and,  from  this  moment,  I  am  resolved  to 
lay  my  follies  aside,  and  pursue  that  line  of  conduct  which  will 
be  most  pleasing  to  the  best  of  fathers  and  of  friends. 

Old  F.  Well  said,  my  boy — well  said !  You  make  me 
happy  indeed.  {Patting  him  on  the  shoulder.)  Now,  then, 
my  dear  Tristram,  let  me  know  what  you  really  mean  to  do. 

Tri.  To  study  the  law — 

Old  F.  The  law  ! 

Tri.  I  am  most  resolutely  bent  on  following  that  profession. 

Old  F.  No ! 

Tri.  Absolutely  and  irrevocably  fixed. 

Old  F.  Better  and  better.  I  am  overjoyed.  Why,  'tis  the 
very  thing  I  wished.  Now  I  am  happy  !  {^Tristram  makes 
gestures,  as  if  speaking.)     See  how  his  mind  is  engaged  ! 

Tri.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury — 

Old  F.  Why,  Tristram— 

Tri.  This  is  a  cause — 

Old  F.  Oh,  my  dear  boy  !  I  forgive  you  all  your  tricks. 
I  see  something  about  you  now  that  I  can  depend  on.  (^Tris- 
tram continues  making  gestures.) 

Tri.  I  am  for  the  plaintiff  in  this  cause — 

Old  F.  Bravo  !  bravo  ! — excellent  boy  !  I'll  go  and  order . 
your  books  directly. 

Tri.  'Tis  done,  sir. 

Old  F.  What,  already  ? 

Tri.  I  ordered  twelve  square  feet  of  books  when  I  first 
thought  of  embracing  the  arduous  profession  of  the  law. 

Old  F.  What,  do  you  mean  to  read  by  the  foot  ? 

Tri.  By  the  foot,  sir ;  that  is  the  only  way  to  become  u  solid 
lawyer. 

Old  F.  Twelve  square  feet  of  learning  !     Well — 

lYi.  I  have  likewise  sent  for  a  barber — 

Old  F.  A  barber  !     What,  is  he  to  teach  you  to  shave  close  ? 

Tri.  He  is  to  shave  one-half  of  my  head,  sir. 

Old  F.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  cannot  perfectly  understand 
what  that  has  to  do  with  the  study  of  the  law. 


486  DIALOGUES. 

Tri.  Did  you  never  hear  of  Demosthenes,  sh*,  the  Athenian 
orator  ?  He  had  half  his  head  shaved,  and  locked  himself  up 
in  a  coal-cellar. 

Old  F.  Ah  !  he  was  perfectly  right  to  lock  himself  up, 
after  having  undergone  such  an  operation  as  that.  He  cer- 
tainly would  have  made  rather  an  odd  figure  abroad. 

Tri.  I  think  I  see  him  now,  awaking  the  dormant  patriotism 
of  his  countrymen — lightning  in  his  eye,  and  thunder  in  his 
voice ;  he  pours  forth  a  torrent  of  eloquence,  resistless  in  its 
force ;  the  throne  of  Philip  trembles  while  he  speaks ;  he 
denounces,  and  indignation  fills  the  bosom  of  his  hearers  ;  he 
exposes  the  impending  danger,  and  every  one  sees  impending 
i-uin  ;  he  threatens  the  tyrant — they  grasp  their  swords ;  he 
calls  for  vengeance — their  thirsty  weapons  glitter  in  the  air, 
and  thousands  reverberate  the  cry.  One  soul  animates  a  nation, 
and  that  soul  is  the  soul  of  the  orator. 

Old  F.  Oh !  what  a  figure  he'll  make  in  the  King's  Bench ! 
But,  come,  I  will  tell  you  now  what  my  plan  is,  and  then  you 
will  see  how  happily  this  determination  of  yours  will  further  it. 
You  have  [Tristram  makes  extravagant  gestures,  as  if  speaking) 
often  heard  me  speak  of  my  friend  Briefwit,  the  barrister — 

Tri.  Who  is  against  me  in  this  cause — 

Old  F.  He  is  a  most  learned  lawyer — 

Tri.  But  as  I  have  justice  on  my  side — 

Old  F.  Zounds  !  he  doesn't  hear  a  word  I  say  !  Why,  Tris- 
tram ! 

Tri.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  I  was  prosecuting  my  studies. 

Old  F.  Now,  attend— 

Tri.  As  my  learned  friend  observes —  Go  on,  sir,  I  am  all 
attention. 

Old  F.  Well,  my  friend  the  counsellor — 

Tri.  Say  learned  friend,  if  you  please,  sir.  We  gentlemen 
of  the  law  always — 

Old  F.  Well,  well — my  learned  friend — 

Tri.  A  black  patch  ! 

Old  F.  Will  you  listen,  and  be  silent  ? 

Tq'I.  I  am  as  mute  as  a  judge. 

Old  F.  My  friend,  I  say,  has  a  ward,  who  is  very  handsome, 
and  who  has  a  very  handsome  fortune.  She  would  make  you 
a  charming  wife. 

Tri.  This  is  an  action — 

Old  F.  Now,  I  have  hitherto  been  afraid  to  mtroduce  you 
to  my  friend,  the  barrister,  because  I  thought  your  lightness 
und  his  gravity — 


ALLINGIIAM, OULTON.  '        4:87 

TrL  Might  be  plaintiff  and  defendant. 

Old  F.  But  now  jou  are  grown  serious  and  steady,  and  have 
resolved  to  pursue  his  profession,  I  will  shortly  bring  you 
together :  you  will  obtain  his  good  opinion,  and  all  the  rest 
follows  of  course. 

Tri.  A  verdict  in  my  favor. 

Old  F.  You  marry  and  sit  down  happy  for  life. 

Tri.  In  the  King's  Bench. 

Old  F.  Bravo !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  But  now  run  to  your  study — 
run  to  your  study,  my  dear  Tristram,  and  I'll  go  and  call  upon 
the  counsellor. 

Tri.  I  remove  by  habeas  corpus. 

Old  F.  Pray  have  the  goodness  to  make  haste,  then.  (Hur- 
rying him  off.) 

Tri.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  this  is  a  cause — [Exit.) 

Old  F.  The  inimitable  boy  !  I  am  now  the  happiest  father 
living.  Wliat  genius  he  has  !  He'll  be  lord  chancellor  one  day 
or  other,  I  dare  be  sworn.  I  am  sure  he  has  talents  !  Oh, 
how  I  long  to  see  him  at  the  bar !  Allixghvm 


18.      DOCTOR  WISEPATE THADY  o'kEEN ROBERT. 

Doctor  Wisepate,  in  a  moming-gown  and  velvet  night-cap,  discovered  at 
a  table  at  breakfast.     A  wig-box  near  bun,  lying  open. 

Doctor  Wisepate.  Plague  on  her  ladyship's  ugly  cur  ! — it 
has  broke  three  bottles  of  bark  that  I  had  prepared  myself  for 
Lord  Spleen.  I  wonder  Lady  Apes  troubled  me  with  it.  But 
I  understand  it  threw  down  her  flower-pots  and  destroyed  all 
her  myrtles.  I'd  send  it  home  this  minute,  but  I'm  unwilling 
to  offend  its  mistress  ;  for,  as  she  has  a  deal  of  money,  and  no 
relation,  she  may  think  proper  to  reniember  me  in  her  will. 
(Noise  ivithin.)     Eh  !  what  noise  is  that  in  the  hall  ? 

(Enter  Thady  O'Keen,  dirty  and  wet,  followed  by  Robert.) 

T.  O'Keen.  Lut  I  must  and  will,  do  you  see.  Yery  pretty, 
indeed,  keeping  people  standing  in  the  hall,  shivering  and  shak- 
ing with  the  wet  and  cold ! 

Robert,  The  mischief's  in  you,  I  believe  ;  you  order  me  about 
AS  if  you  were  my  master. 


48S  DIALOG  UKS-. 

Dr.  W.  Why,  what's  all  this  ?  who  is  this  uiirnnnrierly  fci' 
low  ? 

T.  0*K.  There  !  your  master  says  you  are  an  iinraanncrl) 
fellow. 

Rob.  Sir,  it's  Lady  Ape's  servant :  he  has  a  letter,  and  says 
he  won't  deliver  it  into  any  one's  hands  but  your  honor's.  Now, 
I  warrant  my  master  will  teach  you  better  behavior.     (£Jxii.) 

T.  O'K.  Oh,  are  you  sure  you  are  Doctor  Wisepate  ? 

Dr.  W.  Sure !  to  be  sure  I  am. 

T.  O'K.  Och !  plague  on  ray  hat,  how  wet  it  is  !  (Shakes  his 
hat  about  {he  room,  d'c.) 

Dr.  W.  {lays  his  spectacles  down  and  rises  from  the  table). 
Zounds  !  fellow,  don't  wet  my  room  in  that  manner ! 

T.  O'lC  Eh  !  Well— Oh,  I  beg  pardon— there's  the  letter : 
and  since  I  must  not  dry  my  hat  in  your  room,  why,  ^s  you 
particularly  desire  it,  I  will  go  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  dry  it 
and  myself  before  the  fire.     (Goes  out.) 

Dr.  W.  Here,  you,  sir,  come  back.  I  must  teach  him  bet- 
ter manners.  (Re-enter  Thady  O'Kcen.)  Hark  you,  fellow — 
whom  do  you  live  with  ? 

T.  O'K.  Whom  do  I  live  with  ?  why,  with  my  mistress,  to 
be  sure,  Lady  Apes. 

Dr.  W.  And  pray,  sir,  how  long  have  you  lived  with  her 
ladyship  ? 

T.  O'K.  How  long  ?     Ever  since  the  first  day  she  hired  me. 

Dr.  W.  And  has  her  ladyship  taught  you  no  better  man- 
ners ? 

T.  O'K.  Manners  ?  she  never  taught  me  any,  good  or  bad. 

Dr.  W.  Then,  sir,  I  will ;  I'll  show  you  how  you  should 
address  a  gentleman  when  you  enter  a  room.  What's  your 
name? 

T.  O'K.  Name?— why,  its  Thady  O'Kecn,  my  jewel.  What 
in  wonder  is  he  going  to  do  with  ray  name  !     {Aside^ 

Dr.  W.  Then,  sir,  you  shall  be  Dr.  Wisepate  for  a  while,  and 
I'll  be  Thady  O'Keen,  just  to  show  you  how  you  should  enter  a 
room  and  deliver  a  letter. 

T.  O'K.  Eh  !  what  ?  make  a  swap  of  ourselves  !  With  all 
my  heart.     Here's  my  wet  hat  for  you. 

Dr.  W.  There,  sit  down  in  my  chair.     (Golyig.) 

T.  O'K.  Stop,  stop,  honey — by  my  shoul  you  can  never  be 
Thady  O'Keen  without  you  have  this  little  shillelagh  in  your 
fist. — There. 

Dr.  W.  Very  well.  Sit  you  down.  (Takes  Thady' s  hat, 
dc,  and  goes  out.) 


OL'LTOJN-.  489 

T.  O'K.  (solus).  Let  me  see  ;  I  can  never  be  a  doctor  either, 
without  some  sort  of  a  wig.  Oh,  here  is  one — and  liere  is  my 
spectacles,  faith.  On  my  conscience,  I'm  the  thing  !  [Puts  on 
(he  wig  awkwardly,  and  the  spectacles  ;  then  sits  in  the  doctor's 
chair.  Dr.  Wisepate  knocks.)  Walk  in,  honey,  [Helps  himself 
to  chocolate  and  bread  and  butter.) 

(Re-enter  Dr.  Wisepate,  bowing.) 

Dr.  W.  Please  your  honor — [Aside.) — What  assurance  the 
fellow  has ! 

T.  O'K.  Speak  out,  young  man,  and  don't  be  bashful.  (Eat- 
ing, dc.) 

Dr.  W.  Please  your  honor,  my  lady  sends  her  respectful 
compliments — hopes  your  honor  is  well. 

T.  O'K.  Pretty  well,  pretty  well,  I  thank  you. 

Dr.  W.  And  has  desired  me  to  deliver  your  honor  this  letter. 

T.  O'K.  That  letter,  well,  why  don't  you  bring  it  to  me  ? 
Pray,  am  I  to  rise  from  the  table  ? 

Dr.  W.  So,  he's  acting  my  character  with  a  vengeance.  But 
I'll  humor  him.  (Aside.)  There,  your  honor.  (Gives  the  letter, 
bowing.) 

T.  O'K.  (  Opens  the  letter  and  reads!) 

"  Sir  : — Since  my  dear  Flora  has  given  you  so  much  uneasi- 
ness— Och,  by  my  shoul,  that's  no  lie — I  beg  leave  to  inform 
you  that  a  gentleman  shall  call  either  to-day  or  to-morrow  for 
her.  If  it  should  rain,  I  request  the  poor  thing  may  have  a — 
what's  this  ? — C  o  a — coat ! — coat,  no — coach.  Yours." — 
Hem  !  well — no  answer's  required,  young  man. 

Dr.  W.  His  impudence  has  struck  me  almost  dumb.  (Aside.) 
No  answer,  your  honor  ? 

T.  O'K.  JSTo,  my  good  fellow — but  come  here — let  me  look 
at  you.  Oh,  you  seem  very  wet.  Why  it's  you,  I  understand, 
who  brought  this  troublesome  cur  a  few  days  ago  :  you  have 
been  often  backwards  and  forwards,  but  I  could  never  see  you 
till  now.  Hollo,  Robert !  where's  my  lazy  good-for-nothing 
servant?     Robert!     (Rings  a  bell.) 

Dr.  W.  Eh !  what  the  deuce  does  he  mean  ?     (Aside.) 

(Enter  Robert,  who  stares  at  them  both.) 

Rob.  Eh  '.—Did— did  you  call,  sir  ?     (  To  Dr.  Wisepate.) 
T.  O'K.  Yes,  sirrah  !     Take  that  poor  fellow  down  to  the 

kitchen  ;  he's  come  upon  a  foolish  errand  this  cold  wet  day ; 

BO,  do  you  see,  give  him  something  to  eat  and  drink — as  much 

21*^ 


4^90  DIALOGUES. 

as  he  likes — and  bid  my  steward  give  him  a  guinea  for  his 
trouble. 

Rob.  Eh! 

T.  O'K.  Tunder  and  ouns,  fellow  !  must  I  put  my  words  into 
my  mouth,  and  take  them  out  again,  for  you  ?  Thady  (to  the 
Doctor),  my  jewel,  just  give  that  blockhead  of  mine  a  rap  on 
his  sconce  with  your  little  bit  of  a  switch,  and  I'll  do  as  much 
for  you  another  time. 

JDr.  W.  So,  instead  of  my  instructing  the  fellow,  he  has  ab- 
solutely instructed  me.  (Aside.)  Well,  sir,  you  have  convinced 
rce  what  Dr.  Wisepate  should  be,  and  now  suppose  we  are  our- 
selves again. 

T.  O'K.  (rises).  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  Here's  your  hon- 
or's wig  and  spectacles,  and  now  give  me  my  comfortable  hat  and 
switch. 

Dr.  W.  And,  Robert,  obey  the  orders  that  my  representative 
gave  you. 

Rob.  What !  carry  him  down  to  the  kitchen  ! 

T.  O'K.  No,  young  man,  I  shan't  trouble  you  to  carry  me 
down  ;  I'll  carry  myself  down,  and  you  shall  see  what  a  beau- 
tiful hand  master  O'Keen  is  at  a  knife  and  fork.  (Exit  with 
Robert.) 

Dr.  W.  (solus).  Well,  this  fellow  has  some  humor  ;  indeed, 
he  has  fairly  turned  the  tables  upon  me.  I  wish  I  could  get 
him  to  give  a  dose  of  my  prescribing  to  her  ladyship's  cats  and 
dogs,  for  the  foolish  woman  has  absolutely  bequeathed  in  her 
will  an  annual  sum  for  the  care  of  each,  after  her  death.  Oh, 
dear  !  dear !  how  much  more  to  her  credit  would  it  be  to  con- 
sider the  present  exigencies  of  her  country'-,  and  add  to  the  num- 
ber of  voluntary  contributions  !  Oulton 


19.      SCENE  FROM  CATILINE. 

The  Senate — Lictors — The  Consul — Cicero  speaking. 

Cic.  Our  long  dispute  must  close.     Take  one  proof  more 
Of  this  rebellion. — Lucius  Catiline 
Has  been  commanded  to  attend  the  senate. 
He  dares  not  come.     I  now  demand  your  votes  ! — 
Is  he  condemned  to  exile  ? 


GEOKGE  CKOLY.  491 

Catiline  comes  in  hastily,  and  flings  himself  on  the  bench , 
all  the  senators  go  over  to  the  other  side. 

Cic.   [turning  to   Catiline).     Here  I  repeat  the  charge,  to 
gods  and  men, 
Of  treasons  manifold ; — that,  but  this  day, 
He  has  received  despatches  from  the  rebels ; 
That  he  has  leagued  with  deputies  from  Gaul 
To  seize  the  province ;  nay,  has  levied  troops, 
And  raised  his  rebel  standard  : — that  but  now 
A  meeting  of  conspirators  was  held 
Under  his  roof,  with  mystic  rites,  and  oaths, 
Pledged  round  the  body  of  a  murdered  slave. 
To  these  he  has  no  answer. 

Cat.  (r'-sing  calmly).    Conscript  fathers  ! 
I  do  not  r'sR  to  waste  the  night  in  words ; 
Let  that  plebeian  talk ;  'Lis  not  my  trade ; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right — let  him  show  proofs — 
For  Roman  right ;  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.     Ay,  cluster  there. 
Cling  to  your  master;  judges,  Romans — slaves / 
His  charge  is  false  ;  I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer.     Let  my  actions  speak ! 

Cic.  (interrupting  him).    Deeds  shall   convince  you !     HfiS 
the  traitor  done  ? 

Cat.  But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned, 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong  ; 
Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword. 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back. 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me, — turning  out 
The  Roman  from  his  birthright ;  and  for  what !    {LooJcing  round 

him.) 
To  fling  your  offices  to  every  slave  ; 
Vipers  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb ; 
And  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  to  the  top 
Of  this  huge  moldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  man  below. 

Cic.  This  is  his  answer !     Must  I  bring  more  proofs  ? 
Fathers,  you  know  there  lives  not  one  of  us, 
But  lives  in  peril  of  his  midnight  sword. 
Lists  of  proscription  have  been  handed  round, 
In  which  your  general  properties  are  made 
Four  murderer's  hire. 


.493  DIALOGUES. 

(A  cry  is  Iieard  without — "  Mare  i^fisoners  /"  An  offc- 
cer  enters  with  letters  for  Cicei'o  ;  who,  after  glancing 
at  them,  sends  them  round  the  Senate.  Catiline  i» 
strongly  perturbed.) 

Cic.  Fathers  of  Rome !     If  man  can  be  convinced 
By  proof,  as  clear  as  daylight,  here  it  is  ! 
Look  on  these  letters  !     Here's  a  deep-laid  plot 
To  wreck  the  provinces  :  a  solemn  league, 
Made  with  a|l  form  and  circumstance.     The  time 
Is  desperate, — all  the  slaves  are  up ; — Rome  shakes  1 
Tlie  heavens  alone  can  tell  how  near  our  graves 
We  stand  even  here  !-^The  name  of  Catiline 
Is  foremost  in  the  league.     He  was  their  king. 
Tried  and  convicted  traitor  1   go  from  Rome  ! 

Cat.  (haughtily  rising).    Come,  consecrated  lictors,  from  your 
thrones  :  [^"^  ^^^  Senate. 

Fling  down  your  sceptres :— take  the  rod  and  axe, 
And  make  the  murder  as  you  make  the  law. 

Cic.  (interrupting  him).    Give  up  the  record  of  his  banish- 
ment. [To  an  officer. 

(The  ofjicer  gives  it  to  the  Consul.) 

Cat.  (indignantly).  Banished  from  Rome  !    What's  banished, 
but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  ? 
"  Tried  and  convicted  traitor  !"     Who  says  this  ? 
Who'll  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head  ? 
Banished — I  thank  you  for  it.     It  breaks  my  chain ! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour — 
But  now  my  sword's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  lords  1 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you ;  here  I  jfling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face. 
Your  Consul's  merciful. — For  this,  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

(The  Consul  reads:) — ''Lucius  Sergius  Catiline:  by 
the  decree  of  the  Senate,  you  are  declared  an  enemy 
and  alien  to  the  State,  and  banished  from  the  territory 
of  the  Commonwealth." 


GEOKGE  CKOIA". HliNKY  TAYLOR.  493 

The  Consul.  Lictors,  drive  the  traitor  from  the  temph^ ! 

Cat.'  (furious).    "Traitor!"    I  go — but  I  return.     This— 
trial ! 
Here  I  devote  your  Senate  !     I've  had  wrongs 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 
Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 
This  day's  the  birth  of  sorrows  ! — this  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions : — look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords '. 
For  there,  henceforth  shall  sit,  for  household  gods, 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus ! — all  shames  and  crimes ! 
Wan  treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn  ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup  ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe. 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  Night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave ! 

The  Senators  rise  in  tumult  and  cry  out. 

Go,  enemy  and  parricide,  from  Rome  ! 

Cic.  Expel  him,  lictors  !     Clear  the  Senate-house  ! 

[They  surround  him. 
Cat.  {struggling  through  them).    I  go,  but  not  to  leap  the 
gulf  alone. 
1  go — but  when  I  come,  'twill  be  the  burst 
Of  ocean  in  the  earthquake — rolling  back 
In  swift  and  mountainous  ruin.     Fare  you  well ! 
You  build  my  funeral-pile,  but  your  best  blood 
Shall  quench  its  flame.     Back,  slaves  !     {To  the  lictors) — I  will 
return ! 

[He  rushes  out;  the  scene  closes. 

Geoege  Ckoly    v. 


20.     VAN  DEN  BOSCII  AND  VAN  ARTEVELDE. 

Artevelde.  This  is  a  mighty  matter.  Van  den  Bosch, 
And  much  to  be  revolved  ere  it  be  answered. 

Van  den  Bosch.  The  people  shall  elect  thee  with  one  voice. 
I  will  insure  the  White-Hoods,  and  the  rest 
Will  eagerly  accept  thy  nomination. 
So  to  be  rid  of  some  that  they  like  less. 
Thy  name  is  honored  both  of  rich  and  poor, 


4:94  DIALOGUES. 

For  all  are  mindful  of  the  glorious  rule 

Thy  father  bore,  when  Flanders,  prosperous  then, 

From  end  to  end  obeyed  him  as  one  town. 

Art.  They  may  remember  it — and.  Van  den  Bosch, 
May  I  not,  too,  bethink  me  of  the  end 
To  which  this  people  brought  my  noble  father  ? 
They  gorged  the  fruits  of  his  good  husbandry, 
Till,  drunk  with  long  prosperity,  and  blind 
With  too  much  fatness,  they  tore  up  the  root 
From  which  their  common  weal  had  sprung  and  flourished. 

Van  den  B.  Nay,  Master  Philip,  let  the  past  be  pasi. 

Art.  Here  on  the  doorstead  of  my  father's  house. 
The  blood  of  his  they  spilt  is  seen  no  more. 
But  when  I  was  a  child  I  saw  it  there ; 
For  sf)  long  as  my  widow-mother  lived 
Water  came  never  near  the  sanguine  stain. 
She  loved  to  show  it  me,  and  then  with  awe, — 
But  hoarding  still  the  purpose  of  revenge, 
I  heard  the  tale — which,  like  a  daily  prayer 
Repeated,  to  a  rooted  feehng  grew — 
How  long  he  fought,  how  falsely  came  like  friends 
The  villains  Guisebert  Grutt  and  Simon  Bette, — 
All  the  base  murder  of  the  one  by  many  ! 
Even  such  a  brutal  multitude  as  they 
Who  slew  my  father — yea,  who  slew  their  own 
(For  like  one  had  he  ruled  the  parricides), 
Even  such  a  multitude  thou'dst  have  me  govern. 

Van  den  B.  Why,  what  if  Jacques  Artevelde  was  killed  ? 
He  had  his  reign,  and  that  for  many  a  year, 
And  a  great  glory  did  he  gain  thereby. 
And  as  for  Guisebert  Grutt  and  Simon  Bette, 
Their  breath  is  in  their  nostrils  as  was  his. 
If  you  be  as  stout-hearted  as  your  father. 
And  mindful  of  the  villanous  trick  they  played  him, 
Their  hour  of  reckoning  is  well-nigh  come. 
Of  that,  and  of  this  base  false-hearted  league 
They're  making  with  the  earl,  these  two  to  us 
Shall  give  account. 

Art.  They  cannot  render  back 
The  golden  bowel  that's  broken  at  the  fountain, 
Or  mend  the  wheel  that's  broken  at  the  cistern. 
Or  twist  again  the  silver  cord  that's  loosed. 
Yea,  life  for  life,  vile  bankrupts  as  they  are, — 
Their  worthless  hves,  for  his  of  countless  price,— 


ilENEY  TAYLOK.  4:95 

Is  their  whole  wherewithal  to  pay  their  debt. 
Yet  retribution  is  a  goodly  thing, 
And  it  were  well  to  wring  the  payment  from  them 
Even  to  the  utmost  drop  of  their  hearts'  blood. 

Van  den  B.  Then  will  I  call  the  people  to  the  square, 
And  speak  for  your  election. 

Art.  Not  so  fast. 
Your  vessel,  Van  den  Bosch,  hath  felt  the  storm  : 
She  rolls  dismasted  in  an  ugly  swell. 
And  you  would  make  a  jury-mast  of  me. 
Whereon  to  spread  the  tatters  of  your  canvas. 
And  what  am  I  ? — Why,  I  am  as  the  oak 
Which  stood  apart,  far  down  the  vale  of  life, 
Growing  retired  beneath  a  quiet  sky. 
Wherefore  should  this  be  added  to  the  wreck  ? 

Van  den  B.  I  pray  you,  speak  it  in  the  Burghers'  tongue  : 
I  .ack  the  scholarship  to  talk  in  tropes. 

Art.  The  question,  to  be  plain,  is  briefly  this  : 
Shall  I,  who,  chary  of  tranquillity, 
Not  busy  in  this  factious  city's  broils, 
Nor  frequent  in  the  market-place,  eschewed 
The  even  battle, — shall  I  join  the  rout  ? 

Van  der  B.  Times  are  sore  changed,  I  see ;  there's  none  lU 
Ghent 
That  answers  to  the  name  of  Artevelde. 
Thy  father  did  not  carp  nor  question  thus 
When  Ghent  invoked  his  aid.     The  days  have  been  - 
When  not  a  citizen  drew  breath  in  Ghent 
But  freely  would  have  died  in  Freedom's  cause. 

Art.  The  cause,  I  grant  thee.  Van  den  Bosch,  is  good  : 
And  were  I  linked  to  earth  no  otherwise 
But  that  my  whole  heart  centered  in  myself, 
I  could  have  tossed  you  this  poor  life  to  play  with, 
Taking  no  second  thought.     But  as  things  are, 
I  will  revolve  the  matter  warily. 
And  send  thee  word  betimes  of  my  conclusion. 

Van  den  B.  Betimes  it  must  be,  for  the  White-Hood  chiefs 
Meet  two  hours  hence,  and  ere  we  separate 
Our  course  must  be  determined. 

Art.  In  two  hours. 
If  I  be  for  you,  I  will  send  this  ring 
In  token  I  have  so  resolved.     Farewell ! 

Van  den  B.  Philip  Van  Artevelde,  a  greater  man 
H^an  ever  Ghent  beheld,  we'll  make  of  thee, 


4:96  DIALOGUES. 

If  thou  be  bold  enough  to  try  this  venture. 
God  give  thee  heart  to  do  so.     Fare  thee  well. 

[^xit  Van  den  Bosch. 

Art.  (after  a  long  pause).     Is  it  vain  glory  that  thus  whis- 
pers me. 
That  'tis  ignoble  to  have  led  my  life 
In  idle  meditations — that  the  times 
Demand  me,  that  they  call  my  father's  name  ? 
Oh  !  what  a  fiery  heart  was  his  !  such  souls 
Whose  sudden  visitations  daze  the  world, 
Vanish  like  lightning,  but  they  leave  behind 
A  voice  that  in  the  distance  far  away 
Wakens  the  slumbering  ages.     Oh  !  my  father  ! 
Thy  hfe  is  eloquent,  and  more  persuades 
Unto  dominion  than  thy  death  deters  ! 

Henry  Tatio*. 


21.     TELL  AND  HIS  COUNTRYMEN. 

Tell,  Emi,  Vemer,  Furst. 
Scene — A  Lake  and  Mountains. 

Tell.  Ye  crags  and  peaks,  I'm  with  you  once  again  ! 
I  hold  to  you  the  hands  ye  first  beheld, 
To  show  they  still  are  free.     Methinks  I  hear 
A  spirit  in  your  echoes  answer  me. 
And  bid  your  tenant  welcome  to  his  home 
Again  ! — 0,  sacred  forms,  how  proud  you  look  ! 
How  high  you  lift  your  heads  into  the  sky ! 
How  huge  you  are  !  how  mighty  and  how  free  ! 
Ye  are  the  things  that  tower,  that  shine — whose  smile 
Makes  glad — whose  frown  is  terrible — whose  forms. 
Robed  or  unrobed,  do  all  the  impress  wear 
Of  awe  divine.     Ye  guards  of  liberty, 
I'm  with  you  once  again  !     I  call  to  you 
With  all  my  voice  ! — I  hold  my  hands  to  you 
To  show  they  still  are  free.     I  rush  to  you. 
As  though  I  could  embrace  you  ! 

Emi  {zoithout).  William !  William  ! 

Tell.  Here,  Erni,  here  ! 


J.  S.  KNOWLES. 

(Erni  enters.) 

M'ni.  You're  sure  to  keep  the  time 
That  comes  before  the  hour. 

Tell.  The  hour 
Will  soon  be  here.     Oh,  when  will  liberty 
Be  here,  my  Erni  ?     That's  my  thought,  which  still 
I  find  beside.     Scaling  yonder  peak, 
I  saw  an  eagle  wheeling  near  its  brow 
O'er  the  abyss  : — his  broad-expanded  wings 
Lay  calm  and  motionless  upon  the  air. 
As  if  he  floated  there  without  their  aid. 
By  the  sole  act  of  his  unlorded  will, 
That  buoyed  him  proudly  up.     Instinctively 
I  bent  my  bow  ;  yet  kept  he  rounding  still 
His  airy  circle,  as  in  the  delight 
Of  measuring  the  ample  range  beneath. 
And  round  about  absorbed,  he  heeded  not 
The  death  that  threatened  him. — I  could  not  shoot ! 
'Twas  liberty  ! — I  turned  my  bow  aside, 
And  let  him  soar  away  ! 

(Enter  Verner  and  Furst.) 

Tell.  Here,  friends  ! — Well  met ! — Do  we  go  on  ? 

Verner.  We  do. 

Tell.  Then  you  can  count  upon  the  friends  you  named  ? 

Verner.  On  every  man  of  them. 

Furst.  And  I  on  mine. 

Erni.  Not  one  I  sounded,  but  doth  count  his  blood 
As  water  in  the  cause  !     Then  fix  the  day 
Before  we  part. 

Verner.  No,  Erni ;  rather  wait 
For  some  new  outrage  to  amaze  and  rouse 
The  common  mind,  which  does  not  brood  so  mucli 
On  wrongs  gone  by,  as  it  doth  quiver  with 
The  sense  of  present  ones. 

Tell  {to  Verner).     I  wash  with  Erni, 
But  think  wdth  thee. "    Yet  when  I  ask  myself 
On  whom  the  wrongs  shall  light  for  which  we  wait — 
Whose  vineyard  they'll  uproot — whose  flocks  they'll  ravage- 
Whose  threshold  they'll  profane — whose  hearth  pollute — 
Whose  roof  they'll  fire  ? — when  this  I  ask  myself, 
And  think  upon  the  blood  of  pious  sons, 
The  tears  of  venerable  fathers,  and 


497 


498  DIALOGUES. 

The  shrieks  of  mothers,  fluttering  round  their  spoiled 
And  nestless  young — I  almost  take  the  part 
Of  generous  indignation,  that  doth  blush 
At  such  expense  to  wait  on  sober  prudence. 

Furst.  Yet  it  is  best. 

Tell.  On  that  we're  all  agreed  ! 
Who  fears  the  issue  when  the  day  shall  come  ? 

Verner.  Not  I ! 

Furst.  Nor  I! 

Erni.  Nor  I ! 

Tell.  I'm  not  the  man 
To  mar  this  harmony.     Nor  I,  no  more 
Than  any  of  you  !     You  commit  to  me 
The  warning  of  the  rest.     Remember,  then, 
My  dagger  sent  to  any  one  of  you, 
As  time  may  press,  is  word  enough :  the  others 
I'll  see  myself.     Our  course  is  clear — 
When  next  we  meet  upon  this  theme. 
All  Switzerland  shall  witness  what  we  do  ! 


J.  S.  Knowlsjl 


22.     THE  frenchman's  lesson  in  ENGLISH. 

Frenchman.  Ha,  my  friend !  I  have  met  one  very  strange 
word  in  my  lesson.     Vat  you  call  h-o-u-g-h,  eh  ? 

Tutor.  Huff. 

Fr.  Tres  bien,  huflf;  and  snuff  you  spell  s-n-o-u-g-h,  Q'^'^.c^cC^^.t-S 

Tu.  Oh  no,  no !  snuff  is  spelled  s-n-u-flf.     In  fact,  words  in     \iy 
ough  are  a  little  irregular.  ^  A        «^ 

Fr.  Ah,  very  good  !  'tis  beautiful  language  !  H-o-u-g-h  is 
huff.  I  will  remember  ;  and  of  course  c-o-u-g-h  is  cuff ;  I  have 
one  very  bad  cuff,  ha  ? 

Tu.  No,  that  is  wrong ;  we  say  kauff,  not  cuff. 

Fr.  Kauff,  eh  ?  Huff  and  Kauff,  and,  pardonnez  moi,  how 
you  call  d-o-u-g-h — duff,  eh  ?  is  it  duff  ? 

Tu.  No,  not  duff. 

Fr.  Not  duff!    Ah,  oui;  I  understand,  it  is  dauff,  ha? 

Tu.  No,  d-o-u-g-h  spells  doe.     «- 

Fr.  Doe !  It  is  very  fine !  wonderful  language  !  it  is  doe ; 
and  t-o-u-g'h  is  toe,  certainement.     My  beef-steak  is  very  toe. 

Tu.  Oh  no,  no  !  you  should  say  tuff. 

Fr.  Tuff  ?   Le  Satan  !  and  the  thing  the  farmer  uses,  how  you 


ANONYMOUS. SIIAKSPEAKE.  499 

call  him,  p-1-o-u-g-li — plufF,  is  it  ?  Ha,  you  smile,  I  see  that  I 
am  wrong ;  it  must  be  plaufF.  No  ?  Then  it  is  ploe,  like  doe  ? 
It  is  one  beautiful  language !  ver'  fine — ploe  ! 

Tu.  You  are  still  wrong,  my  friend  ;  it  is  plow. 

Fr.  Plow !  Wonderful  language !  I  shall  understand  ver' 
soon.  Plow,  doe,  kaufF;  and  one  more,  r-o-u-g-h — what  you 
call  Gen.  Taylor,  Rauf  and  Ready  ?  No  ?  Then  Row  and 
Ready  ?  ^ 

Tu.  No.     R-o-u-g-h  spells  ruff. 

Fr.  RufF,  ha  ?  Let  me  not  forget.  R-o-u-g-h  is  ruff,  and 
b-o-u-g-h  is  buff,  ha  ? 

Tu.  No;  bow. 

Fr.  Ah,  'tis  ver'  simple  !  wonderful  language  ! — but  I  have 
liad  vat  you  call  e-n-o-u-g-h — ha  ?  vat  you  call  him  ? — he  !  he  \ 
^la  J  1>^^  5  Anonymous. 


23.      THE  POINT  OF  HONOR. 

From  "  As  You  Like  It." 

Speakers. — The  Duke  (with  attendants),  Jaques,  and  Touchstone. 

Scene. — The  Forest. 

Touch,  (entering,  to  the  Duke,  dx.)  Salutation  and  greetmg 
to  you  all. 

Jaq.  Good  my  lord,  bid  him  welcome.  This  is  the  motley- 
minded  gentleman  that  I  have  so  often  met  in  the  forest ;  he 
hath  been  a  courtier,  he  swears. 

Touch.  If  any  man  doubt  that,  let  him  put  me  to  my  purga- 
tion. I  have  trod  a  measure  ;  I  have  flattered  a  lady  ;  I  have 
been  politic,  have  undone  three  tailors  ;  I  had  four  quarrels,  and 
like  to  have  fought  one. 

Jaq.  And  how  was  that  ta'en  up  ? 

Touch.  'Faith,  we  met,  and  found  the  quarrel  was  upon  the 
seventh  cause. 

Jaq.  How  seventh  cause  ? — Good  my  lord,  like  this  fellow. 

Duke.  1  like  him  very  well. 

Touch.  God  'ild  you,  sir  :  I  desire  you  of  the  like.  I  press 
in  here,  sir,  among  the  rest,  to  swear  and  to  forswear,  with  a 
poor  damsel,  sir,  an  ill-favored  one, — a  poor  humor  of  mine,  sir, 
to  take  that  no  man  else  will.  But  rich  honesty  dwells  like  a 
miser,  sir,  in  a  poor  house, — as  your  pearl  in  a  foul  oyster. 

Duke.  By  my  faith,  he  is  very  swift  and  sententious. 


500  DIALOGUES. 

Jaq.  But,  for  tlie  seventli  cause :  how  did  you  find  the  quar- 
rel upon  the  seventh  cause  ? 

Touch.  Upon  a  lie  seven  times  removed :  as  thus,  sir,  I  did 
dislike  the  cut  of  a  certain  courtier's  beard ;  he  sent  me  word, 
if  I  said  his  beard  was  not  cut  well,  he  was  in  the  mind  it  was  : 
this  is  called  the  Retort  courteous.  If  I  sent  him  word  again 
it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  send  me  word,  he  cut  it  to  please 
himself :  thi*  is  called  the  Quip  modest.  If  again,  it  was  not 
well  cut,  he  disabled  my  judgment :  this  is  called  the  Reply 
churlish.  If  again,  it  was  not  well  cut,  he  would  answer,  I 
spake  not  true  :  this  is  called  the  Reproof  valiant.  If  again,  it 
was  not  well  cut,  he  would  say,  I  lie :  this  is  called  the  Coun- 
tercheck quarrelsome ;  and  so  to  the  Lie  circumstantial  and  the 
Lie  direct. 

Jaq.  And  how  oft  did  you  say  his  beard  was  not  well  cut  ? 

Touch.  I  durst  go  no  further  than  the  Lie  circumstantial,  nor 
he  durst  not  give  me  the  Lie  direct;  and  so  we  measured 
swords,  and  parted.  ' 

Jaq.  Can  you  nominate  in  order,  now,  the  degrees  of  the 
lie? 

Touch.  Oh !  sir,  we  quarrel  in  print,  by  the  book ;  as  you 
have  books  for  good  .manners.  I  will  name  you  the  degrees. 
The  first,  the  Retort  courteous  ;  the  second,  the  Quip  modest ; 
the  third,  the  Reply  churlish  ;  the  fourth,  the  Reproof  valiant ; 
the  fifth,  the  Countercheck  quarrelsome  ;  the  sixth,  the  Lie  with 
circumstance  ;  the  seventh,  the  Lie  direct.  All  these  you  may 
avoid,  but  the  Lie  direct ;  and  you  may  avoid  that,  too,  with 
an  If.  I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  make  up  a  quar- 
rel ;  but  when  the  parties  were  met  themselves,  one  of  thera 
thought  but  of  an  If, — as,  "  If  you  said  so,  then  I  said  so  ;"  and 
they  shook  hands,  and  swore  brothers.  Your  If  is  the  only 
peacemaker :  much  virtue  in  an  If. 

Jaq.  Is  not  this  a  rare  fellow,  my  lord  ?  he's  as  good  at  any 
thing,  and  yet  a  fool. 

Duke.  He  uses  his  folly  like  a  stalking-horse  ;  and  under  the 
presentation  of  that  he  shoots  his  wit, 

Shakspeabs. 


THE    END. 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO:S  PUBLIC ATIONS. 


"  The  Best,  as  they  are  the  Latest." 


QUACKENBOS'S  GRAMMARS. 

AN  ENGLISH  GRAMMAE :  12mo,  288  pages. 

FIRST  BOOK  IN  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR :  16mo,  120  pages. 

Erery  Teacher,  every  School-Committee,  every  Board  of  Education,  fai 
bitorested  in  using  the  best  text-books.  We  therefore  feel  less  hesitation  in 
calling  attention  to  these  two  Grammars  by  G.  P.  Quackenbos,  which  we 
claim  possess  many  and  decided  advantages  over  other  text-books  on  the 
subject.  Endorsements  from  the  best  teachers  confirm  us  in  this  opinion. 
Read  the  following : — 

From,  Geo.  S.  KLellexbekgeh,  Princ.  of  Schools,  Alton,  HI. 

"It  certainly  has  all  those  excellences  of  arrangement,  analysis,  perspicuity,  and 
facility  of  comprehension,  which  distinguish  other  -works  of  the  author,  and  which 
render  them  not  only  the  very  best  school  text-books,  but  also  make  them  invaluable 
tu  a  higher  position — that  of  authoritative  works  of  reference  to  the  scholar.  I  regard 
it  as  tfi6  best  work  on  English  Grammar  yet  published — and  that  by  laege  odds.'' 

From  Hon.  Anson  Sjitth,  late  School  Commissioner  for  Ohio. 
"  For  several  weeks  Quackenbos's  English  Grammar  has  lain  upon  my  table.  I  have 
repeatedly  taken  it  up  and  examined  test  points ;  and  I  have  reached'  the  conclusion 
that  no  better  work  of  the  kind  has  etyme  v/nder  my  notice.  In  plan  and  execution  it 
meets  my  hearty  approval,  and  I  cordially  recommend  it  to  all  who  are  engaged  in 
teaching." 

From  Eev.  E.  J.  Yottng,  Stept  of  Schools,  Allentown,  Pa. 
"It  Is  just  the  book  we  want.    There  are  many  things  in  it  to  rejoice  every  live 
teacher.    I  shall  make  it  my  vade  vecum,  and  use  it  as  a  text-book  in  the  eaamination 
of  teachers," 

From  Eev.  Hbney  Bbann,  D.D,,  Pres.  Seton  Rail  College,  S.  Orange,  2^.  J. ' 
"I  think  it  is  an  excellent  book ;  not  too  large  for  an  elementary  work,  yet  sutfl- 
ciently  diffused  for  even  advanced  students.    The  clearness  of  its  explanations  striked 
me ;  and  the  exercises  on  False  Syntax  are  better  arranged  and  mx)re  instruoUvt 
than  those  of  any  other  Graimnars  that  have  fallen  under  my  observation.'''' 

From  Miss  E.  0.  Bangs,  Princ.  Elderage  Schools,  N&w  Raven,  Conn. 
"  Having  carefully  examined  Quackenbos's  English  Grammar,  I  am  much  plcawd 
with  it,  especially  with  its  practical  character.  I  think  it  will  render  this  dij  and 
difficult  study  more  intelligible  to  the  pupil,  and  also  greatly  lessen  the  labor  of  \ha 
teacher,  who,  in  most  text-books  now  in  use,  is  obliged  to  elucidate  and  illustrate  to  a 
VFoarisome  degree." 

Confident  that  a  thorough  examination  of  these  Grammars  will»show  that 
tkey  present  a  lucid,  simple,  practical,  consistent,  and  philosophical  system, 
In  a  form  admirably  adapted  for  use  in  the  scnool-room,  the  Publishers  will 
mail,  post-paid,  a  specimen  copy  for  examination  on  receipt  of  one-half  the 
retail  price.  All  teachers,  particularly  such  as  are  dissatisfied  with  the  work 
tibey  are  now  using,  are  solicited  to  avail  themselves  of  this  opportunity. 


D.  APPLETON  ik   CO:S  PUBLICATIONS. 


Quackenbos's  Text-Books  on  Englisli  Com- 
position. 


FIRST  LESSONS  IN  COMPOSITION.     12mo,  182  pages. 
ADVANCED  COURSE  OF  COMPOSITION  AND  RHETORIC. 
460  pages. 

KND0K8EMENTS  FEOM  PEACTICAL  EDUCATORS. 


12mek 


Rev.  Alien  M.  Scott,  P.D.,  Pres. 
South  Gibson  College,  endorses  both 
works  thus :  "  I  must  pronounce  them 
vastly  superior  to  any  thing  of  the 
kind  I  have  emer  «e««." — C.  B.  Tll- 
lingrhast,  Prina  ^Moosup  (Conn.) 
Academy :  "  1  think  them  the  nearest 
perfection  of  any  that  I  have  examined." 
— C.  S.  Hallowell,  Princ  High 
School,  Alexandria,  Va. :  "  We  have  for 
some  years  been  using  the  small  work 
on  Composition  by  Quackenbos,  and 
have  recently  Introduced  his  United 
States  History  and  Ehetoric,  with  both 
of  which  we  are  well  pleased." 

y.  E.  liovell,  the  well-known  TOthor 
of  the  "Readers":  "I  have  for*  long 
time  been  using  your  First  Lessons  in 
my  school,  and  like  the  work  very 
much."— R.  S.  James,  Princ.  of  High 
School,  iTorristown,  O. :  "-I  know  oj  no 
work  equal  to  U  for  simplicity  o/ 
arrangement,  correctness  of  definithn, 
and  adaptation  to  the  wants  of  schools." 
—J.  E.  Chiitner,  Pres.  Otterbein, 
University,  0.:  "I  am  greatly  pleased 
with  the  work,  and  think  it  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  purpose  intended." 

BoloziLon  Jenner,  one  of  the  oldest 
teachers  In  New  York:  "Wishing  to 
give  the  work  (First  Lessons)  th9  best 
recommendation  in  my  power,  I  will 
JoBt  say  that  I  have  introduced  it  into 
my  school."— M.  C.  Tracy,  hite 
Principal  of  Mechanics'  Institute  School, 
N.  Y. :  "It  is,  without  question,  the 
be*t  treatise  that  has  appeared  on  the 

IQt4«Ct" 


A.  Q-.  Harringrton,  Princ  of  Unioa 
School,  Canastota,  N.  Y. :  "I  consider 
Quackenbos's  'First  Lessons  in  Compo- 
sition* admirably  adapted  to  supply  a 
want  long  felt  In  this  branch  of  educa- 
tion.*'-H.  H.  Merrill,  A.M.,  Princ. 
of  ^oodlettsville  (Tenn.)  High  School, 
pronounces  It  "a  superior  book  for 
teaching  the  leading  principles  of  Eng 
lish  Grammar.  It  is  with  me  an  indis- 
pensable text-book."" 

W.  H.  Sttdtz,  Princ  Female  High 
School,  Easton,  Pa. :  "  Having  used  this 
book  (the  Rhetoric)  for  the  past  three 
years,  I  think  I  ought  to  be  able  to 
speak  understandingly  of  its  merits; 
and  I  take  pleasure  in  saying  that  J 
know  of  no  book  on  this  subject  so  well 
suited  to  the  wants  of  our  Common 
Schools.  It  is  able  and  philosophica. 
throughout."— Thos.  Lucy,  Princ  o. 
Academy,  Cooksville,  Md. :  "  It  Is  ap 
excellent  book,  delightfully  written— 
just  the  thing  for  advanced  students." 

<!.  E.  Brame,  Princ  Greensboro  (Ala.) 
Female  Academy :  "  The  Rhetoric  and 
Oonsposltlon  cannot  be  too  highly  com- 
mended. It  Is  regarded  by  all  my  teach- 
ers as  better  suited  to  the  wants  of  a 
femjtle  school  than  any  other  work  yet 
published."— A.  A.  Keen,  A.  M., 
Princ  cf  Pomeroy  Academy :  '  I  hare 
no  hesltailoa  in  saying  that  it  .s  th« 
Oook  for  collegia  and  academies." 

M.  M.  Baldwin,  A,M.,  Priuc.  of 
Clarence  Clasaical  Schc^l,  declares  it  t« 
be  '■'■  pr^erable  to  tc<tfp  t*0'4^ar  wort 
now  befwre  thep%ib\it'" 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


